


All the Devils are Here

by YellowDistress



Series: Someday I'll Make it Out of Here [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dead Aunt May, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Whump, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 98,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Peter knows deep down, in the glass that is his mind, that he couldn't have stopped it. He couldn't have known that on a freezing night, May Parker would step out in front of a moving vehicle and die. All the while, he was laughing with Ned, their voices carrying through the streets of Queens.Peter knows deep down, he couldn't have fathomed the events that would follow. An abyss of never-ending ache and the disorderly behavior that grown men weren't supposed to exhibit, but Tony Stark would manage to display anyway.Peter knows all of these things, but still manages to be eaten alive, every single day.





	1. Sometimes Our Soul Dies First, Then Our Body

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is the first ever story I've done. I hope you all enjoy, and if you could leave a comment to let me know what you think, I'd love that. :) I've got a pretty good plot laid out, so the next chapter won't take long.

 

 Tragedies always happened on the best nights.

 

Of course, being Friday, it was a ‘best night’ for Peter. The cinema had been playing a throwback showing of _The Empire Strikes Back_ and he and Ned had completely lost their minds over it. Peter, more so, to reminisce over the fight with the giant Ant-Man. Ned, more so, _just_ to reminisce.

 

Jumping, whooping, being loud. It was nothing out of the ordinary and Peter felt high as a kite. It was the normalcy he had lacked ever since the fight with Vulture. The fear that would creep up at the oddest of times. When subway rides got too tight. When the sheets cocooned around his knees in the night.

 

No panic had risen when the lights of the theatre went down and Peter called that a success. In fact, he called it nothing. Because he thought nothing of it. That was the real win. Not even letting it cross his mind until after.

 

_I wasn’t even scared._

He grinned to himself as Ned gave him a playful shove.

 

“You know, I’ve always seen myself as the Han-Solo-Type,” Ned was beaming. Having a night alone with his best-friend without worrying about superhero business was an oddity now. He continued, “You’ve always struck me as my Chewie.”

 

Peter’s jaw dropped, “No way! I’m definitely Han!”

 

Ned pursed his lips, “Nah.”

 

Peter argued, “Dude, I can jump like, three stories up!”

 

His friend nodded, relenting, “So you make more of a Jedi. Probably under the lines of Luke Skywalker.”

 

That seemed to placate Peter and he smiled again, “Yeah. I’m more of a Jedi. MJ can be Chewie.”

 

They split up two blocks later, going their separate ways. Peter skipped, a slight pep within each step and the Darth Vader Theme rang through his head. He had mentally assigned the song to the Winter Soldier. Only mentally though. It was a joke he would have to keep to himself. Mr. Stark wouldn’t find it funny. The man was angry about anything having to do with the now-outlaws. Especially the Winter Soldier and Captain America.

 

As he entered the tiny apartment he shared with Aunt May, he gave the door the usual ‘special’ push it needed to get inside. Something had happened to it. The building’s handy-man, Mr. Rodrigues, kept promising to get it fixed, but something always seemed to come up. More so, that something was Mrs. Caldwell down the hall. When her husband was away, Mr. Rodrigues was always ‘fixing’ something for her.

 

Peter shuddered at the thought.

 

Shutting the door back just as oddly, Peter clicked the lock after himself, calling into the space, “Aunt May! I’m home!”

 

Silence was the reply.

 

Peter blinked, moving in further. He stuck his head down the hallway and called again, “Aunt May?”

 

No one answered him and he hummed. She must have stayed late at her ‘book club’, though Peter knew they talked more about people than books. The one time he had gone with her, he had found it to be a group of women who mostly enjoyed the excuse to get together and gossip.

 

He didn’t mind though, Aunt May viewed it as a stress reliever and Peter like anything that made her happy.

 

Peter quickly slipped in and out of the shower, dressing in a comfortable-too-large t-shirt and some pajama pants. The crisp night air was leaking in through the windows and he knew it would only get colder in the coming months.

 

Shooting a quick **HEADED TO BED** text to Aunt May, he silently climbed beneath the sheets and shut his eyes. A good day. An ‘A’ on his Spanish test. A movie with Ned.

 

Tragedies always happened on the best nights.

 

Yanked from his sleep by the sharp cry of his cellphone, Peter’s eyes snapped open. He groaned, rolling over to face the red-numbered digital clock that told him he had only been asleep an hour and a half…

 

Peter’s fingers crawled through the darkness over his night-stand, knocking over his clock and several pencils in the process. When his hand finally wrapped about the device, he squinted his eyes against the bright, unknown number.

 

Tilting his head curiously, Peter answered, his throat thick with sleep…

 

“Hello?”

 

_“Hello, is this Mr. Peter Parker?”_

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Peter started to sit up slowly. He tried not to sound annoyed as he mumbled, “Yeah…”

 

 _“Mr. Parker,”_ The woman’s voice was stern, but Peter still couldn’t get over the fact that it had woken up him. He shook his head as she continued slowly _, “My name is Doctor Windsor at Mercy Hospital. I’m calling in regard to a May Parker. She has you listed as an emergency contact.”_

Peter’s spine stiffened immediately and his eyes widened. Sleep abandoned him, going into an abyss as it was replaced with a racing heart and a speeding mind. Peter’s voice came out strained with worry, “S-she’s my aunt. What happened? Is she alright?”

 

Doctor Windsor’s voice replied just as clinical as before, explaining, _“Your aunt was involved in an accident. We’re going to need you to come down to the hospital.”_

“A-alright,” Peter’s throat was tight, “Alright, I-I’ll be there…In a few minutes.”

 

He didn’t give the woman time to respond before he hung up and flung himself out of bed. Without even taking the time to put on shoes, Peter grabbed his house-keys and wallet before he flew out the front door of the apartment and down the stairs. His bare feet made hollow sounds against the concrete of the street. Mentally, he knew Aunt May would be scolding him for running around Queens with no shoes on, because, unsanitary. The cold was tearing through his pajamas, and Peter didn’t even try to make his sprint more Peter-Parker-Like. Pre-Bite Peter wasn’t welcome here. Not now.

 

What kind of accident? He should have asked. He didn’t even think to…Not in that moment. Not in that moment that felt like he had been punched in the gut. Not in that moment that felt like someone had stuck a sickle through his chest.

 

Peter ran. Ran. Ran. Ran. Ran.

 

People on the streets jumped out of his way to make room. They cast worried glances or just complete panic at seeing a fifteen-year-old barreling towards them. Peter didn’t stop running until he entered the hospital, under the bright red sign that read EMERGENCY.

 

He didn’t even feel cold anymore.

 

Hurriedly, Peter approached the woman at the desk who didn’t notice him until he cleared his throat. He was still breathing heavily from his sprint, and she seemed surprised to see a disheveled teenager dressed in his pajamas, gasping for air, with no shoes on.

 

She tilted her head and asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

 

“I-I got a call,” Peter’s voice cracked, despite himself, “A woman named Doctor Windsor called me. S-she said my aunt is here.”

 

The woman nodded and picked up the phone beside her. She pressed several buttons and there was a moment of unpleasant silence until the woman spoke into the phone, “Hi Keith. I’ve got a…”

 

She trailed off, before asking Peter, “What’s your name, honey?”

 

“Peter Parker,” He responded.

 

She nodded, continuing to the person in the phone, “I’ve got a Peter Parker here who says he’s supposed to be seeing Doctor Windsor about his aunt…”

 

Another pause.

 

“Alright, I’ll bring him back.”

 

She hung up, and it wouldn’t take a boy-genius to see that the woman’s body had gone a bit rigid. She stood slowly, her smile forced as she walked around the counter towards a set of double doors. She gestured for Peter to come forward, saying, “Follow me.”

 

Peter rung his hands together, trying to ignore the stares he got as he casted his eyes to the ground, at his bare feet that were pink from the cold. He followed the lady into the doors and down several hallways. Hallways that were white and bright and blinding. His senses were acting up. Dialing. He tried his best to dial them back.

 

His head was pounding from the sprint, but his breath had caught up.

 

They stopped in front of a brown door and the woman turned the knob, switching on a light. Peter was led inside a small room, _too small,_ and told to sit in a chair in front of a tiny desk. The woman placed a warm hand on his shoulder and spoke gently, “Doctor Windsor will be here in a moment.”

 

Peter couldn’t muster any words, so he only nodded. The woman left and shut the door behind her, much to Peter’s dismay. He felt swallowed. Trapped. Under the rubble of a building. Vulture swiping through the air. Fire all around.

 

_Drowning. Drowning. Drowning._

Strings tying around his arms and legs, dragging him to the bottom of the water. A tear slipped from his eye and onto his cheek, but he was quick to remove it. Not now. Not here. Not while Aunt May needed him. She was hurt. She needed him to be strong.

 

The door opened.

 

Peter flinched heavily, turning slightly to lock eyes with a woman, whom he assumed was Doctor Windsor, dressed in a white coat. Following her was a woman in yellow scrubs, a soft smile in her features. A smile like the ones he had been given the day he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle.

 

Peter’s stomach felt nauseated.

 

The woman in the white coat held out a hand and greeted, “Hi Mr. Parker, I’m Doctor Windsor. We spoke on the phone. This is Nurse Penny.”

 

He shook both of their hands and he whispered, “P-Peter. I’m Peter.”

 

But they knew that. They knew.

 

Doctor Windsor walked around the desk, setting down a folder, while Nurse Penny took the seat directly beside Peter. Oh God, too much. Too small. Peter tried his best to shift away without offending the woman who he believed was probably only there as a source of comfort. Her scrubs read ‘pediatrics’ and since Aunt May wasn’t a child, he assumed she was there for him.

 

The desk lady must have told them he looked young.

 

“Peter…” The doctor began, sounding too soft, too fast. Peter felt his heart begin to speed up and he fought the urge to run, because a doctor didn’t look at someone like that when it was good news, but then again, it couldn’t be bad news. Not about Aunt May. Not about her…

 

Doctor Windsor went on, “I was assigned to your aunt’s case. She came in tonight, about two hours ago. She had been struck by a car while crossing the street. Ms. Parker sustained an extremely serious blow to the head…”

 

Peter knew she was dumbing it down for him…knew…this was bad…bad…bad…bad…

 

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to be there.

 

Then she said it.

 

“We did everything…” Doctor Windsor only paused a _millisecond_ , hardly, but it was enough for Peter to grip the armrests so hard he had to remember not to break them. She sighed, “We did everything we could. We performed emergency surgery, but it was just too much bleeding.”

 

He felt the woman next to him grab his hand and he held hers back. He didn’t know her. Didn’t know Nurse Penny. Didn’t care to, but he held her hand fiercely because it was like his aunt’s hand. They had on the same perfume…

 

“She passed away, in surgery,” Doctor Windsor finished, but Peter knew. He knew. He _knew_.

 

Peter’s eyes burned and he looked down. Nurse Penny was running circles over his hand and she had probably done this loads of times. That’s why they had pediatrics here. To comfort him. They worked with children all the time.

 

Children who only had dead people to love.

 

Peter’s body felt like glass as a folder was pushed towards him. Doctor Windsor said, “Inside this folder there’s a picture of the deceased. We need you to identify her…officially…for the record.”

 

Peter didn’t think he could. He could barely breathe. He was barely alive.

 

Despite that though, he lifted his head, his lip trembling as the folder opened.

 

The photograph was clear. Very clear. Maybe even clearer than photos on his cellphone. The woman in it, despite being pale and bruised, was without a doubt May Parker. Any hope Peter held within his gut was washed away and Peter looked down at the floor, at his bare feet. He bit his lip before mumbling, “That’s her.”

 

Nurse Penny said, “The police are going to be investigating the accident to find out the cause.”

 

That didn’t make him feel better. Either way, she was dead.

 

Doctor Windsor cleared her throat and asked, “Peter, how old are you?”

 

Peter looked up at her with confused eyes. The folder was closed now, held tightly to her chest. He answered quietly, “Fifteen.”

 

Doctor Windsor nodded, giving Nurse Penny some kind of odd stare. Nurse Penny hummed, “There are papers that need to be signed, but you’ll need to have an adult present. We’ll also need to call Social Services to make sure we can get you released into someone’s care.”

 

Peter blinked at her. What? Why couldn’t he just sign the papers and go home?

 

_“Fifteen.”_

_Oh._

He’s fifteen…

 

Despite being Spider-Man, he wasn’t much of a man at all. He was still a kid. A kid that was going to have Social Services called on him. Peter bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to the point that he could taste blood.

 

“Who can I call for you, hun?” Nurse Penny asked.

 

Peter shook his head, “I-I don’t know…Aunt May was…Aunt…She was all I had.”

 

He briefly considered Happy, but no…Happy was his co-worker…Not his babysitter. Happy would call Tony and Tony would…Peter didn’t know what Tony would do, but Peter was not going to bother them with this. This was his mess.

 

“That’s okay,” Nurse Penny said, but it was not okay. Not even close. She continued, “We’ll get in contact with Social Services and they’ll send someone to sign with you.”

 

Then they were moving him. Standing him up and bringing him to another tiny room, but this one was dark and there was a little bunk bed. Maybe an on-call room of some kind. Peter was helped to sit because…Jesus…His legs wouldn’t work.

 

The women left and the door shut. He found himself alone in the quiet, smothering as he lay and stared into the abyss above him.

 

He didn’t start to sob until he remembered that he forgot to tell Aunt May about the ‘A’ on his Spanish test.

 

Fire built in his gut and Peter felt like the air was being ripping out of him with each gasp that escaped. He held his hands over his mouth, trying to muffle the sounds. No one needed to hear that. No one needed to hear Peter Parker ripping apart at the seams as the world imploded. No one needed to know that everyone that he had ever loved was now dead.

 

_I should have been there. I should have been there. I should have been there. Not seeing a movie. Not goofing off with Ned._

_Ned._

Peter fumbled for his phone, instantly dialing his friend’s number. Pressing the device to his ear, he listened as it rang time after time, until a groggy voice finally answered, _“Peter?”_

“Oh God, Ned,” Peter breathed, the tightness in his chest giving way just enough to allow him to speak. Ned was still there. Ned still existed. Nothing bad had happened to Ned. Maybe Peter wasn’t all alone. Maybe.

 

 _“Hey man,”_ Ned sounded clueless, just tired, _“What’s up? It’s the middle of the night…”_

Peter’s breath hitched as he whispered, “N-Ned…Something really bad happened.”

 

There was a long, terror filled silence before Ned questioned _, “Are you hurt?”_

Peter shook his head, gasping as he nearly choked on a sob, “No…But…N-Ned, my aunt…There was an accident…S-she got hurt really bad and I…”

 

His chest wracked so harshly for a moment, Peter couldn’t say anything. He felt as though he were about to vomit as Ned’s voice called for him on the other end, waiting for his friend to catch his breath.

 

 _“Peter, what’s wrong!? Dude, you’re scaring me. What happened to May?”_ Ned’s desperate voice caused Peter to pull himself together just long enough to tell him.

 

_Say it. Just say it._

_Say it._

_It’s real._

“She’s dead,” Peter whispered weakly, “She’s dead.”

 

There was no response at first. Nothing. Peter didn’t think Ned knew what to say. So, Peter continued unprompted, “They’re making me stay to wait for Social Services. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to call…I-I don’t…I don’t know…”

 

He was getting beside himself again and Ned suggested, without skipping a beat, _“You have to call Mr. Happy.”_

“What!?” Peter’s voice was shrill, “I can’t do that!”

 

_“Why not?”_

“B-Because…Because…” Peter couldn’t breathe, “He’s my co-worker…a-and so is Mr. Stark, and I can’t. I can’t. God, Ned everything _hurts. It hurts.”_

Peter paused before whispering, “Do you think she was hurting? Do you think it hurt her?”

 

 _“Peter…”_ Ned’s voice sounded so lost…so confused and Peter felt guilty for dragging his friend into his turmoil. Ned said _, “If you don’t call Happy, then I’ll have to.”_

“Ned, please…” Peter started but Ned interrupted him.

 

_“I still have his number from the Vulture incident. Listen…I’m not going to let you stay locked up in a hospital until a social worker shows up to cart you away. It’s not happening. You need an adult you can trust. So, either you call or I do.”_

 Peter covered his face, “I’ll call. I’ll call. Don’t…Happy will b-be mad i-if he knows I gave out his number.”

 

The remainder of the conversation was spent with words of nothing from Ned. Words of attempted comfort and some of the words did comfort Peter, but nothing anyone said could overpower the pain he was feeling. As soon as he hung up, he stared, frightened at his phone. He had to call Happy. He told Ned he would and if he didn’t…Ned would do it and it would only be worse. He’d be with the social worker by then. Things would be harder…Scarier.

 

Peter dialed the number.

 

It barely rung.

 

_“Kid, you’re lucky that Tony banned me from ignoring your calls.”_

He sounded tired.

 

Damn it…Peter was just…screwing up…so much.

 

Peter whispered, “Sorry.”

 

He was trying to hide the tears in his voice. He didn’t want to cry on the phone to Happy. It was different with Ned. Ned was Ned. But Happy was Happy and Peter shifted uncomfortably on the bed, holding his eyes shut tightly to stop the tears, but they were coming anyway. He thought this would be easier, since he had already done it once with Ned, but no…This was worse.

 

Happy must have heard through the façade…

 

 _“What’s wrong? Why do you sound like that?”_ Happy questioned.

 

More tears. There was something completely different about an adult versus Ned. Peter’s chest constricted so hard, he gasped. Why couldn’t he stop cry? _Stop crying._ Be a damned adult for five seconds and jut spit it out.

 

No air.

 

_“Peter, listen to me. You’ve gotta breathe. What’s wrong? What’s happening?”_

Peter had never heard Happy sound so worried. There was shuffling. Happy was moving. Peter managed to say weakly, “Happy…Aunt May…s-she got hit my car, tonight…and she _died_.”

 

He couldn’t stop the strong sob that escaped him. More shuffling. Stunned silence.

 

_“Where are you?”_

“Mercy Hospital,” Peter whimpered, “They’re calling Social Services to send someone to come help me sign papers…I-I…”

 

Peter took a deep breath, “What do I do? Please tell me what’s going to happen. I’m scared, Happy. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

 

Peter didn’t have any concept to feel ashamed.

 

_“You’re going to stay right where you are. You aren’t going to fill out any paperwork, not until me and Tony get there. I’m going to call him as soon as I get off the phone with you and we’re coming straight there. Do not let them move you, Peter. You stay at Mercy.”_

Peter nodded, but realized Happy couldn’t see him when the man asked _, “Understand?”_

“Y-yes,” Peter whispered.

 

Call ended.

 

Eyes shut.

 

Ache.

 

…

 

Tony’s hands worked idly on the blaster in front of him.

 

Time waster was all it was. A way to make the night go by faster. Sleep didn’t come easy. Sleep wasn’t a hobby he enjoyed anyway and tinkering was something he liked to do. Tony took a long sip of his coffee before jolting at a sudden shock from the instrument. Tony huffed in annoyance.

 

There had been no sleep. Not in the several months since Germany.

 

Steve, Barnes, Wilson, Wanda, and Nat continued to be on the run. Clint and Lang were on house arrest. Steve had been reaching out and Tony was torn between reporting him to Ross or reaching out himself…To salvage what was left of the Avengers.

 

But could anything truly be salvaged after Steve had nearly pried Tony’s chest open with his shield and left their team to help save the guy who had killed Howard and Maria Stark?

 

Not likely.

 

Tony glanced briefly at the clock, realizing it was almost three in the morning. He sighed, dropping the tools in favor of running his hand over his tired face. Pepper wouldn’t be back for two more weeks and until then, sleep would not come. It would not.

 

“Boss?” FRIDAY’s voice chirped over the sound of Tony’s thoughts, “You are receiving a call from Happy Hogan. Shall I put him through?”

 

Tony’s face contorted, “What the hell is he doing up this late? Tell him to go to bed.”

 

“He says it’s extremely urgent. Something involving Mr. Parker.”

 

Tony stiffened, his chest tightening slightly. Hurriedly, he leaned forward, tapping his phone…No alerts from Karen saying the kid was in distress…

 

What?

 

“Put him through,” Tony ordered.

 

Happy’s voice beeped to life _, “Tony?”_

“Yep,” Tony responded, digging through Karen’s database. Nothing. He tried to sound nonchalant as he asked, “What’s up, Hogan? Is Spider-ling trying to give you a heart attack?”

 

Happy cleared his throat and responded lowly, _“Tony, something happened.”_

Tony paused. Eyes shifted. Sweat. Tony stopped digging through Karen’s database and leaned heavily onto the table in front of him. Hesitantly he questioned, “What happened to him?”

 

Was it only a few months ago a building had been dropped on the kid? It felt like the night Happy had called to tell him the plane had crashed and apparently Peter had been on it. It felt like he was reliving it. Tony swallowed it down. _Push it down_.

 

 _“Not to him,”_ Tony didn’t make the relief he felt visible. He thought he heard a car door opening as Happy went on, _“To his aunt. May Parker is dead. The kid is distraught and the hospital is calling in Social Services to come help him fill out paperwork and then take him God knows where. I told him we were coming. Tony, we can’t…We can’t let the kid…”_

Go into the system. Be alone.

 

Happy finished weakly, _“He said he was scared. Scared of what’s going to happen.”_

Tony felt a dark hole in his chest open. A memory. A memory of a late-night call that his parents had been killed in a horrific car accident. But a ‘not’ car accident, he knew now. Empty. He had been lucky enough to not be a minor. To be old enough to receive his inheritance and go on his merry little way. He had been _lucky_.

 

But Peter…

 

Peter was still too _young_. Three years away from adulthood.

 

Tony turned, beginning to stomp towards the door with purpose, ordering, “Get here in ten.”

 

_“Got it. Already on my way.”_

Tony rushed to his room, beginning to change as he laid out his cellphone on the bed, setting it to speaker and dialing Pepper’s number. As he slipped on a presentable suit, the woman’s voice answered _, “Tony? Do you know what time it is? I know I’m in California, but it really isn’t that big of a time difference.”_

“Sorry dear,” Tony responded, trying not to sound how he felt. Trying to sound like nothing was wrong. He hummed, “But, I need a favor. I need you to call all of my lawyers and send them to Mercy Hospital. Get them there within the next thirty-minutes and I’ll make it worth-while.”

 

 _“What?!”_ Oh, she was mad.

 

“Hurry,” Tony said, “And if we don’t have any custodial lawyers, get some. As many as you can. Thirty-minutes. I’m counting on you.”

 

She was sputtering as he rushed down to meet Happy and jumped into the back seat without hesitation or a word to the man in the front.

 

Call ended

 

Eyes shut.

 

Ache.

 

…

 

_Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop._

He couldn’t though. Peter considered some time ago that maybe he should just dig his chest out. There were probably many sharp things in a hospital. It hurt so much, he just couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop the tears that fell. He couldn’t take in air.

 

Everything was wrong.

 

Ned kept texting him, asking him for updates. Peter kept reassuring him that everything was okay, but it wasn’t. He just didn’t want Ned to worry about him too much. Peter could do this. He could do it.

 

_You can’t._

The door opened suddenly and Peter sat up, wiping his eyes, though it was no use. When the lights flickered on, and blinded him, he knew they could see his stained face. Once his eyes focused, he saw that Nurse Penny had entered with a woman in a suit. Nurse Penny gave him a sad stare, quickly moving to the table in the corner of the room, grabbing a handful of tissues. Peter hadn’t even noticed in the dark…

 

She handed them to Peter before saying, “Peter, this is Ms. Orville. She’s a social worker and once we get all of the papers together, she’s going to walk you through signing them.”

 

Peter silently wiped his face, giving Ms. Orville a quick glance. Peter removed the tissues and looked at Nurse Penny, whispering hoarsely, “I-I got in touch with someone. They’re on their way here right now to help me sign the papers. I was told not to sign anything without them…I-I…”

 

He trailed off. A small smile formed on Nurse Penny’s face and she responded, “Oh good, what’s their name, sweetie? So I can tell the receptionist to let us know when they arrive.”

 

“Happy Hogan,” Peter said, “And…Tony Stark.”

 

Something strange overcame the room. The women glanced at each other, their eyes only widening a second before going back to normal. Nurse Penny’s smile returned and she nodded, leaving the room…

 

Once they were alone, Ms. Orville opened her mouth as if to speak. However, Peter interrupted her rather hastily with words of his own…

 

“What’s going to happen?”

 

She seemed to be expecting this question. Other kids probably asked a lot. Peter was nothing new. Nothing special. Another alone-kid. Alone.

 

_Oh God._

“Well…” Ms. Orville’s voice was harder than Nurse Penny’s, but not cruel. Just hard. She _must_ have done this a lot…“It’s very complicated and difficult to explain. There are many variables that make each child’s situation different. Since you don’t have any living relatives, the next move…will be to place you, possibly, in a group home…At least until you can be officially placed in a foster family.”

 

Peter shook his head, “Please…don’t…”

 

Ms. Orville blinked and Peter continued, “I can get a job. I-I can…I can figure it out on my own.”

 

“Peter,” The woman spoke softly, yet she was stern, “You’re _only_ fifteen.”

 

_Only fifteen._

His breath was heavy and he was trembling as he prayed, “ _Give her back. God, if you’re out there, just give her back.”_

Ms. Orville stood suddenly, moving towards the door as she said, “I’ll go get the paperwork together, Peter.”

 

Conversation ended.

 

Eyes shut.

 

_Ache._


	2. When Two Sufferings Meet, No one Envies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know what any of this m-means…” Peter whispered.
> 
> Tony gripped his shoulder, turning Peter to face the papers again as he said, “It’s all good things. I’m not going to let you sign your soul away, kid.”
> 
> But it felt like he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this chapter a lot quicker than planned because I got a few days off my summer job. So yay for that! I hope you all like it, thank you for the lovely comments! I appreciate them and I find them very inspiring. Since this is my first story, anything is encouraging to me. Hope you all enjoy chapter two. Let me know what you think. :)

Tony couldn’t stop bouncing his leg.

 

Not until Happy gave him a _look_ for the umpteenth time, did he finally decide to stop. Happy Hogan knew Tony was anxious, but Tony didn’t want that to be. He didn’t want any outward appearance of the fact and if bouncing his leg gave away the clench in his chest, then he had to stop. He had to be level headed. This _needed_ to be business.

 

For Peter’s sake and his own sanity.

 

A part of Tony nagged. He wondered how he had gotten to this point with the kid. To the point of having regular updates from Happy. Hacking into the school’s system to receive the child’s grades (he was a bright kid, straight A’s, if it weren’t for Spanish class).

 

Kid had been good at band too, until Spider-Man caused him to quit.

 

There was a small hole inside of Tony where _the_ people lived. Pepper, Happy, Rhodey…Hell, Steve had once had a place there. And somehow Peter had found his place, silently, without Tony having really realized it.

 

God, what the hell was he doing?

 

Rushing to the hospital. Willing to sign any paper it took for the kid not to be put into the system. Willing to say whatever he had to, tell any lie in the book. Throw money, use his name to his advantage. And he would never admit that he was afraid. Never.

 

The child custody system was bizarre on a good day. He didn’t know much about it, but he knew enough to know that getting a kid that had no relation to you wasn’t exactly simple. They didn’t just hand out kids, even if you were a billionaire. Maybe that was good, but in this case, it was so very bad. Especially because of Tony’s track record.

 

He had gotten better. It was one of the only reasons Pepper had taken him back. He only drank if she wasn’t home. Didn’t go out where the paparazzi could see him do it in public. Tony kept to himself now when he drank, but he had to. Especially after the damned Accords Incident.

 

The sound of his phone ringing pulled him from his self-deprecating thoughts. Pepper’s name lit up on the screen, and Tony answered, already speaking, “Did you get those lawyers, Dearest?”

 

_“Yes,”_ Her voice was strained. She was so pissed, he could tell. She continued _, “They’ve all been drug from their sleep and should be at the hospital before you even arrive. Nearly cost us a wing in the Compound though…They’ll meet you at the entrance…”_

A pause. A beat. Then _, “Tony, what is all of this about? Why do you need custodial lawyers at three in the morning?”_

“Peter’s aunt is dead, Pep…” Tony cleared his throat, trying…Jesus, the façade sucked, but trying to sound like it was nothing. Just business, “The kid is alone at the hospital. Social Services is breathing down his neck and the kid is terrified, so I’m going to get him.”

 

_“W-What?”_ Oh, very few things could take Pepper by surprise. She had spent so many years with Tony that his sudden-without-thought actions had become second nature to her. But the words that had just left Tony’s mouth had seemed to halt her and Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He had hoped that this would be easy with her. But she sounded…Wronged.

 

Pepper nearly gasped _, “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”_

“Well…” Tony sniffed, glancing out the window.

 

_“Tony!”_ Full on panic, _“You’re going to bring him home with you? To the penthouse?!”_

Tony looked at his nails before glancing at Happy’s face in the rearview mirror. Yep. Not much thought had gone into any of it. Tony huffed, “Well, I’m not buying him a room in the hospital, if that’s what you thought.”

 

_“Don’t take this the wrong way,”_ Which meant he was about to take it the wrong way, _“And don’t twist my words. I like Peter. He’s good and he’s kind. But…Tony you can’t just go around using your money and power to snatch up orphaned children.”_

Tony’s shoulders tightened and he was trying not to lose his cool with his _dearest_ over the phone, but he hadn’t slept in days and the kid was wallowing somewhere. His patience was running very thin. Tony snapped, “Do you want me to just leave him there?”

 

Pepper groaned _, “You’re twisting. You haven’t thought about this. Any of this. Peter is fifteen-years-old. A child. He needs a real grown up.”_

“Ouch,” Tony hummed duly, “I’m wounded.”

 

Pepper said, _“Stop it. You know what I’m saying. While I admit you’ve made a lot of progress in the past several years and that’s not just me being biased because you’re my fiancé. But you still struggle. And especially with everything that happened with Steve and the Accords, a child is the last thing you need right now.”_

Much to Tony’s relief, he felt the car pull into the hospital parking lot, sending them into the glow of the red EMERGENCY sign. Even before he exited, he could see several figures dressed in suits standing outside of the entrance and he knew those were his guys.

 

“Gotta go,” Tony hung up.

 

Pepper’s voice argued on the other end only a moment before he pressed the ‘end’ button. Happy sighed, “She’s going to make you regret that.”

 

“Don’t doubt it,” Tony grunted as he opened the door, the car barely having stopped. He stepped out, buttoning the bottom of his suit-jacket as he approached the smartly dressed men. Seven. Damn. Pepper really over did herself.

 

She knew him so well.

 

“Mr. Stark,” The man in the front greeted, holding out his hand before shaking Tony’s offered on. He introduced himself, “I’m Chase Baldwin, and these are just a few members of my firm. We got a call from your fiancée saying to meet you here as soon as possible.”

 

Tony nodded, “Yeah, my fault. It’s what happens when you get engaged to your boss.”

 

Mr. Baldwin cleared his throat and didn’t crack a smile. Right. The usual New Yorker lawyer. Laughing was a sin. Mr. Baldwin was here to win and get paid, as well as the rest of his firm. Good. This was business.

 

He had to remind himself that. Just to prevent the helicopter from coming out of him.

 

Mr. Baldwin began walking beside Tony as they entered the building once Happy had joined them after parking the car. Mr. Baldwin said, “Ms. Potts didn’t seem to know much about the situation. May I ask why someone like Tony Stark needs an entire firm of custodial lawyers at this time of night?”

 

Tony ignored the stares he received as he moved towards the front desk down the hallway. He decided on a watered-down version of events. Just enough to get Mr. Baldwin’s brain moving. Tony said, “There’s a kid here. Peter Parker. I’ve been mentoring him for several months now. The kid’s aunt, his only living relative, died tonight. I don’t want him to end up in the system.”

 

Mr. Baldwin hummed, “That’s very…”

 

“Out of character,” Tony raised an eyebrow.

 

Mr. Baldwin looked as if he were about to backtrack, but Tony was already approaching the desk where the receptionist sat, speaking to a woman in yellow scrubs. The receptionist’s eyes raised to meet them and upon falling on Tony, they widened. The woman in scrubs seemed to notice because she whirled around.

 

The lady in scrubs exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Stark!”

 

Tony looked at her badge. Pediatrics nurse. Penny Gonzalez.

 

“Hi,” Tony mustered his best smile, despite already wanting to run all the gawkers through. He asked, “Is there a Peter Parker here? Fifteen. Short.”

 

Penny Gonzalez nodded hurriedly, “Y-yes! I was actually telling the receptionist that you were coming. You can follow me and we can get the paperwork together-“

 

She was cut off by another woman in a suit approaching, several papers in her hand. She held them out to Gonzalez, saying, “Penny, here are Peter Parker’s papers to give to Doctor Windsor.”

 

The woman didn’t notice Tony until he reached out and took the pages before ‘Penny’ could grab them. She appeared startled at first until her brain caught up and the usual face of people who were ‘unimpressed’ with Tony appeared. You were either Penny or you were this woman. There was no in-between, Tony figured.

 

“Mr. Stark,” The woman appeared to take a deep breath to contain her anger at having the papers snatched away, “My name is Abigail Orville. I’m the social worker assigned to Peter’s case.”

 

Tony waved her off, busy peering down at the many pages, causing Happy to elbow him harshly. Mr. Baldwin instead stepped into his place and held out his hand, greeting, “Hi, Ms. Orville. I believe we met several months ago during the Finstein Case.”

 

Ms. Orville’s eye lit with recognition, then disdain, “Ah, I should have guessed Mr. Stark would get the best money could buy.”

 

Her eyes settled on the other men in suits, “The entire firm, at that.”

 

Ms. Orville eyed Tony warily as the man continued to skim the pages. She spoke, “Follow me. We have a conference room set up already and I’ll give a slight briefing on the situation we’re dealing with here.”

 

Everyone was moving, Happy having to give Tony a slight nudge because he had yet to look up from the papers. A buzzing in Tony’s mind was asking where the kid was, but he guessed they wouldn’t allow him to get close to the child until things were finalized.

 

The room they entered was nearly too small for all of them.

 

Already in the room was a woman in a white coat, which Tony guessed was the doctor. She seemed stunned when the people in suits began to file in. Tony could practically hear her thinking, “All this for one child?”

 

Penny Gonzalez and Ms. Orville joined the doctor on the other side of the table while everyone else reamed on the opposite side. The woman in the white coat held out her hand to Tony, saying, “Hi Mr. Stark. I’m Doctor Windsor.”

 

Tony shook her hand briefly before handing the papers over to Mr. Baldwin to let him have a look. Tony sat down with a grunt, unbuttoning his coat as he did so. Happy took a seat as well, along with Mr. Baldwin, Doctor Windsor, Gonzalez, and Ms. Orville.

 

The rest of the firm remained standing, reading the pages over Mr. Baldwin’s shoulder.

 

Ms. Orville cleared her throat, the first to speak…

 

“This is not our typical…situation. Usually, there aren’t this many lawyers present at this stage in a custodial case…”

 

“Yeah well,” Tony raised his hands as if he didn’t have a care in the world, “I like to make my presence known.”

 

Ms. Orville hummed, “Yes…We’re all very aware, Mr. Stark. We had simply intended to have an adult present while Peter signed those papers. Because he has no surviving relatives, it’s not currently our first priority to release him into anyone’s care.”

 

Tony wanted to snarl. She was sarcastic and for some reason was finding a way under his skin. Instead, he kept his voice steady, like his father’s, saying, “But you _are_ going to release him. I’ve been mentoring the kid for months. Been in touch with his family regularly.”

 

“May Parker had no written will,” Ms. Orville’s voice was straining. Maybe he was getting under her skin too. Good. “Without one, I don’t feel it is appropriate to release him to non-family. Very few cases have ever called for such action.”

 

Tony leaned forward onto his elbows…

 

“You haven’t met me.”

 

…

 

Peter didn’t really know if he was awake or asleep anymore.

 

The tears had drawn the life right out of him. His body ached, and he felt empty. He had cried so long and hard he didn’t think he had anymore tears left. His eyes were shut in the darkness, or maybe they weren’t. He didn’t know anymore. Silently he scratched the bed underneath him with his fingernail, using it as a tether to the land of the living. Occasionally, a text from Ned would cause his phone to light up, but he couldn’t reply anymore.

 

He was so tired.

 

Maybe he was awake then. Sleep didn’t make someone feel this weak. Being awake did. His heart wanted to continue crying. It was as if he was crying on the inside, but on the outside…nothing more would surface.

 

Sleep…Sleep…Sleep…

 

Hoping he would wake in his bedroom, Peter remained still, despite how his arm was falling asleep under him. If he moved, the tether would break. He would be real again. Tangible. That was dangerous. That would bring more tears and he thought his ribs would surely shatter.

 

That was until the door creaked open slowly.

 

There was hesitancy there. It hadn’t opened as confidently as when Nurse Penny and Ms. Orville had come in. Peter couldn’t move though. It felt as if he were glass, shattering. Especially when a heavy hand found his shoulder, squeezed, and a familiar voice whispered, “Kid?”

 

Peter’s eyes snapped open.

 

“Happy?” Peter croaked. Jesus, he sounded awful.

 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Happy’s voice was strained. Stressed. Like he was on the verge of flipping a table, even. Peter rolled over onto his back so that he was looking up at the man. The lights were off, but a ray of brightness streamed in from the hall and into the open door. Peter could see shadows on Happy’s face.

 

He was frowning.

 

Peter whispered, too tired to speak properly, “What’s happening?”

 

“Social Services and the lawyers came to an agreement,” Happy answered, but that’s not what Peter meant. He was talking about Aunt May. Where her soul was. What was happening with _that_ whole process? Happy went on, “You need to come sign some papers.”

 

Peter didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to move. But slowly, he sat up onto his elbows, as if every movement pained him, which it did. He didn’t know how he was suddenly standing, his bare feet on the cold tile as he was led out of the room by Happy into the bright hallway.

 

People were staring again.

 

Happy walked in front of him and Peter worried that if he collapsed, no one would stop his head from clattering into the ground. He shivered until they entered a room, Jesus, small again. Men in suits took up most of the room and Peter hesitated, noticing the way all of the eyes turned to stare at him.

 

Were they all here for him? Just Peter?

 

Happy gave him a small push into the room when he didn’t move immediately. He felt swallowed by his large shirt as each man stepped aside to let him through. Standing away from him was Tony, eyeing him…strangely. Like he was about to break. Crumble. Peter stopped approaching, fear gripping him.

 

Tony came forward and a hand was wrapped around his arm, pulling him towards the table where Doctor Windsor, Ms. Orville, and Nurse Penny were standing on the other side. Papers were laid out in front of him and he was guided to sit down. He said nothing. He couldn’t and Tony’s hands lingered too long on his shoulders.

 

Tony whispered close to his ear…

 

“You need to sign these papers,” Tony was putting a pen in Peter’s hand and the boy gripped it hesitantly, “That way you can come with Happy and I.”

 

Peter didn’t really know what that meant right now. Nothing was making sense, but his hand trembled as he began to sign where Tony pointed. So many pages. Tony had to point to each space, Peter just couldn’t see right now. He couldn’t focus and everyone was staring. Watching.

 

At some point, Peter stopped, fear gripping him. His aunt had told him never to sign something without reading it. Peter had forgotten. He was already forgetting her teachings and that was _horrific_. He looked up at Tony, terrified, eyes saying that he had done something terribly wrong. Tony questioned, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t know what any of this m-means…” Peter whispered.

 

Tony gripped his shoulder, turning Peter to face the papers again as he said, “It’s all good things. I’m not going to let you sign your soul away, kid.”

 

But it felt like he was.

 

The last paper was signed. The people in suits shook hands with Doctor Windsor, Nurse Penny, and Ms. Orville. Peter was pulled to his feet, his eyes glued to the floor as Tony stared down at him, squeezing his shoulders. Mr. Stark shouldn’t see him like that. Dazed and confused and all around weak.

 

Doctor Windsor held out a piece of paper for Tony to take, but Happy took it for him. She explained, “It’s a prescription…For his nerves.”

 

Peter didn’t feel nerves. He just felt tired.

 

As they entered the hallway and approached the exit, Tony kept a tight hand on the back of Peter’s neck. Peter kept his eyes cast to the ground. Too many people watching. They all knew Tony. Questions…Why was Tony Stark surrounded by lawyers, picking up a barefoot child from the hospital?

 

Peter could see the headlines…Jesus.

 

“Where are your shoes?”

 

Peter’s head snapped in Tony’s direction. He looked confused, concerned. Peter glanced down at his bare feet for the millionth time before muttering, “I…I think I forgot to put them on. I ran here.”

 

_In the cold._

_Barefoot in my pajamas._

Tony released his neck, slipping off his suit jacket before sliding it over Peter’s shoulders. They entered the frigid air and Peter couldn’t even feel it. He couldn’t feel anything as he was guided into the back seat of the car that was too expensive.

 

Silence overwhelmed them. Peter forgot his seatbelt. Tony tapped his shoulder, reminding him and Peter did so, even though Tony didn’t put on his. Tony ordered, “Happy, take us to the kid’s apartment. We’ll get some of his stuff and you can run to the pharmacy to fill that prescription. I’ll have the bulk of the things moved later.”

 

Peter blinked, confused. His mind was blank.

 

The fifteen-year-old looked at Tony with sincere loss as he questioned, “Why’re we moving my stuff?”

 

Tony’s head whipped in his direction. Oh… _Oh…_

_“You’re only fifteen.”_

“I can’t live there anymore…Can I?” Peter whispered.

 

Tony’s voice was final. Not cruel. But final.

 

“No.”

 

The parachute was around his ankles again.

 

It was as if Peter blinked and they were in his apartment. The ride had been nothing. Nonexistent in the silence and Tony wouldn’t stop patting Peter’s arm. Shaking his own leg. Peter wanted to tell him to stop, but his energy was gone. He had barely made it up the stairs to the tiny apartment where he currently stood, throwing clothes and his Spider-Man suit in a gym bag.

 

It was almost like packing for a night over at Ned’s. Toothbrush. Hair brush. Pillow.

 

How long would he be gone?

 

There was no aunt to text that he had arrived safely.

 

Tony was somewhere in the living room when Peter approached his aunt’s bedroom at the end of the hallway. Carefully, he shut the door. He didn’t want to see inside. Didn’t want to see the unmade bed, because Aunt May hadn’t made it, not since Uncle Ben died.

 

Even after washing the sheets, she didn’t make the bed properly.

 

Peter leaned his head against the shut door, closing his eyes and fighting more tears. Not here. Not now…Not with Mr. Stark so close.

 

“Coming kid?” Mr. Stark’s voice echoed down the hallway.

 

Peter gripped his pillow close and he shifted his backpack as he turned to face the man a few feet away. Tony was standing there…Confused. But looking at Peter like he was broken again. Peter shook his head slowly and croaked, “I can’t.”

 

Tony blinked and Peter continued, “What if she comes back?”

 

_Oh…No…_

“You’re tired,” Mr. Stark said sternly, sounding too much like a dad, but Tony wasn’t a dad. He paused, considering his words carefully, “We need to get you home and into bed.”

 

Peter bit the inside of his mouth where the wound from earlier was still open and fresh blood spilled, but not enough to matter…

 

“This _is_ home.”

 

Tony must have decided that words weren’t going to pacify the teenager, because he approached and placed a hand on the nape of Peter’s neck again, pulling him towards the exit. At least Peter was compliant in his state of shock.

 

By the time they made it back down, Happy had returned from the pharmacy with the pills that Peter didn’t recognize. He thought they must be very adult, from the way Tony’s eyes widened at the brand.

 

Maybe they had been something Tony had taken before, but Tony pocketed them almost immediately and they were out of view. Peter kept his pillow to his chest. He didn’t fasten his seatbelt and Tony didn’t remind him.

 

Peter pressed himself forward, leaning over the pillow and his forehead rested on the back of Happy’s seat. No one said anything, and Peter was drowning in the quiet. He wished Happy and Tony would banter like usual, but that would be weird, he knew. He knew that would be asking too much. Tony kept staring at his back and Peter prayed for it to stop, but he knew this would be life for quite a while.

 

At least until Tony figured out what to do with him permanently.

 

The car stopped. Tony tugged on him and Peter thought maybe he couldn’t move without guidance right now, because it seemed his brain and body weren’t connected any longer. He ached, his heart and his mind. Everything was hurting.

 

Tony’s lobby was ridiculous. Penthouse straight to the stop. Too much. It was all too much and Peter knew that normally he would be geeking out at Tony’s new place, but not right now. Right then, he couldn’t even be impressed, just sickened slightly at the décor.

 

Then they were in a dimly lit bedroom. All three of them. Happy dropped Peter’s things. Why had they taken his backpack? He still clutched his pillow as he began to pace in front of the giant windows. Windows taller than his floor to ceiling back home. The streets were bright with life, but they were so high up he heard nothing.

 

The view was beautiful, but Peter felt so ugly inside.

 

Tony watched Peter closely as he moved and Peter turned to look at him. The boy’s breathing was picking up as thoughts began to settle inside the stillness of the penthouse…So different in comparison to the car. Even Happy looked on with concern as Peter shook his head.

 

“This isn’t real,” Peter croaked, “None of it.”

 

Tony cleared his throat, “Peter, come sit down.”

 

Peter acted as if he hadn’t even heard the man, his fingers tightening on his pillow as he began to pace again in front of the giant windows. Peter stuttered, almost nonsensically, “I-I mean…She w-was fine! Just today…a-a few hours ago, she was good. But…J-Jesus, Aunt May would never, and I mean never w-walk out in front of a car, Mr. Stark. She w-was always the one telling me to look both ways!”

 

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony stressed this time while Happy’s face contorted into _extreme_ worry at the boy’s behavior. Tony continued, “Come _sit_.”

 

Peter paused suddenly, his voice cracking, “Spider-Man’s aunt doesn’t die from getting hit by a car! It doesn’t happen!”

 

Tony approached this time, reaching out, only for Peter to swat his hand away. It wasn’t aggressive, more frantic than anything else. He dropped the pillow and Peter leaned down immediately to pick it up, but the men watched as the teen’s knees weren’t strong enough to push him back into a standing position.

 

Peter fell onto his bottom with a thud, his body going rigid. Instead of grabbing the pillow, he grabbed at his throat, nails digging into the pale flesh. Air caught in it, his chest heaving up and down, gasping.

 

He was under water again. Ropes around his legs. He couldn’t breathe.

 

“Hey-Hey,” Tony dropped beside him, “Breathe, kid…Dammit.”

 

Peter looked at Tony with wide eyes, gasping, “It…doesn’t…”

 

Tears slipped through and Tony immediately reached for his pocket, pulling out the orange bottle from the pharmacy. He twisted the top and Happy stepped forward, snapping, “Tony, those are for emergencies only.”

 

“I think this is an emergency,” Tony responded, a bit too harshly.

 

Happy waved his hands madly, “They’re strong for a fifteen-year-old!”

 

“Then he’ll sleep,” Tony decided, dropping one pill into his hand. Tony practically threw the pill at the teen. Every alarm was going off in his head. The lack of knowledge on how to comfort. He knew the feeling of not being able to breathe. When everything catches up. But how to deal with it…Well…He was still learning that too.

 

How could he teach Peter?

 

Peter took the pill in his hand, confused. Slowly, he pushed it back towards the man and Tony shook his head, ordering, “Take it.”

 

“N-No,” Peter blinked at the white medicine in his hand, “It’ll make it real.”

 

Tony tried one last time to push Peter’s hand and the medicine towards his mouth, but Peter simply dropped the pill onto the floor. Tony sighed, returning it to the bottle before standing and practically dragging the teen with him towards the bed. Happy reached out, assisting in forcing Peter to sit as Tony placed the bottle on the bedside table.

 

“She can’t be dead,” Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper.

 

Tony grabbed the comforter, pushing Peter’s shoulders until he was lying back onto the bed. Peter was blinking blearily as Tony handed him his own pillow, even though he was already in a sea of expensive linen. Peter’s eyelids fluttered and Tony thought he was asleep until Peter whispered off-topic…

 

“I got an ‘A’ on my Spanish test.”

 

Tony turned his head towards the wall and Happy sighed. Patting the teen’s head lightly, smoothing down the disarray of curls, Tony hummed, “Good job, kid.”

 

And Peter’s breath evened out to silence…

 

…

 

Tony had retreated to his workshop as soon as Peter was asleep.

 

To his disdain, Happy followed, stomping in after Tony had very intentionally slammed the door in his face. Happy huffed, annoyed, as Tony took a seat in front of his work table, hands shaking as he immediately began to tinker. To distract. To escape what was now reality, and how had it gotten like this? Just a few hours ago everything had been normal. Sound. Quiet.

 

“We need to figure out what you’re going to do,” Happy was practically gasping from having chased Tony through the penthouse.

 

Tony tried to sound nonchalant as he responded, “The lawyers are handling it.”

 

Happy groaned. Right. Tony knew there had to be more since Happy had gone through the trouble to chase him. There was more, but Tony didn’t want more. He wanted to wallow, even if he wasn’t particularly grieving May Parker, Peter was, and the weight and concern it had created on Tony was unreal. How could a child stand to lose four parental figures in a lifetime? Tony had barely been able to handle two, and he had been grown.

 

“It’s not just the legal stuff,” Happy snapped, “The kid is hurting. May Parker needs a funeral. The kid’s school is across the city-“

 

“Shit,” Tony dropped the screw driver in favor of pinching the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t even think about a funeral.”

 

Happy said nothing in response to that. Tony whirled around on the stool to face him, blinking. The sun would come up soon. He had been awake all night but he wondered if he’d even be able to sleep. Still, his eyes were heavy, much like Peter’s had been.

 

Tony straightened, “I’ll figure it out. Go rest your heart, Hogan.”

 

Happy’s face looked…sorry…

 

“Tony, I hope you know what all of this entails.”

 

Then Happy was gone. Tony was alone.

 

His head fell into his hands.


	3. Forced Participation Can Have Adverse Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Papers,” Tony began, breathed again, “that will ensure you’re not going to get put into the system. The lawyers say it’s the only fool-proof way of doing it without risking them deciding I’m incompetent because of what’s going on with the Accords and how the media is painting this picture.”
> 
> Peter looked away, confused, then realization seemed to smack the fifteen-year-old across the cheek. His eyes found Tony’s again. Hurt. He was hurt that no one had told him, but Tony couldn’t have. The kid was a mess the night before. Peter was falling apart right in front of him.
> 
> “They’re making you adopt me,” Peter sounded like the air had been knocked out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I have a life. I'm trying to get these cranked out for you guys before I have to go back to my summer job.
> 
> This is quite a long chapter, so I hope that's okay. I know some people prefer shorter ones, but originally these were two separate chapters. I decided to combine them because I felt it flowed better that way. I hope you all enjoy, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! The next several chapters are going to be really angsty, so buckle up. :)

Peter woke to his phone ringing.

 

He startled, flashes of the night before playing through his head. The hospital calling in the dead of night. The voice of the woman on the other end. For one brief second, Peter thought he was re-living it. Like that old movie _Groundhog Day._

But, when he looked at the ID, it wasn’t some unsaved number. The named read “The Guy in the Chair” and Peter pushed himself into a sitting position. Sunlight was blinding him from the giant windows as he looked around, taking in the room. It was probably bigger than his whole apartment. The sheets even felt expensive, if something could feel as such.

 

Peter pressed the green button, croaking, “Hello?”

 

He sounded so terrible.

 

_“Peter!”_ Ned’s voice exclaimed, causing Peter to flinch slightly _, “Oh thank God…I’ve been texting you for hours, dude. Were you asleep? I’m sorry if I woke you…”_

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Ned continued _, “Mom told me I should let you rest, but I had to know if you were alright or still stuck at the hospital or what was going on. I’ve been so sick to my stomach thinking about everything-“_

“I’m alright,” Peter cut him off in a quiet tone. He stood from the bed…No box springs groaned under his weight like usual. It was much too large for just him. Just Peter. He crossed the room to the huge windows and peered down. They were definitely not in Queens anymore. High rises. Hotels. Penthouses. The people below looked like bugs.

 

“I-I,” Peter started, swallowing to grab ahold of his stutter, “I’m with Mr. Stark at his penthouse. We signed some papers last night…I don’t know what they mean, but I guess I’m staying until we figure out what to do…”

 

There was a brief pause, then Ned said _, “I’m so sorry, Peter.”_

Peter shook his head, “N-no…Don’t be sorry. I…I’ll be okay.”

 

_“You don’t have to be tough with me. We’ve been best friends for years…”_ Ned insisted.

 

Peter felt his stomach twist. A part of him wanted to cry. Break down over the phone with Ned and beg him to come sit with him for hours. But that wasn’t fair. Not to Ned. This wasn’t Ned’s problem and Peter didn’t want to distress him anymore than he already was. Peter cleared his throat and responded, “Hey I’ll…call you back. I’ve gotta go shower and find Mr. Stark to figure out what’s going on.”

 

_“Peter…”_ Ned tried.

 

“I’ll call you back,” Peter hung up, his chest spasming, but he wouldn’t let himself cry. He dropped the phone on the bed and grabbed his backpack of clothes before heading to the bathroom and shutting the door behind himself.

 

The morning rituals were mundane, which he was grateful for. It didn’t even feel like he was away from home besides the fact that the bathroom was as big as his bedroom in the apartment. The tile was pristine white and not yellow from years of use. The shampoo was in tiny bottles and not the jumbo size-off-brand that Aunt May bought on Tuesdays at Grocery Gamble whenever everything was half-price in the hygiene section.

 

But when he closed his eyes, he realized the water felt the same on his skin and that was something.

 

As he brushed his teeth, dressed in a fresh pair of sweats and a new t-shirt, he looked at his pale face in the foggy mirror. His stringy-damp bangs stuck to his forehead and he felt he didn’t look as old as he was. Maybe he had lost a few years overnight, which was weird. He looked younger, but felt older.

 

Had he aged on the inside?

 

When Peter finally crept from the bedroom, procrastinating on finding Tony, he instantly felt lost. He had never been to Tony’s new penthouse and the night before was such a blur, Peter didn’t have a clue how to navigate the long hallway.

 

Finally, Peter spoke, “FRIDAY? Are you there?”

 

“Yes Peter,” She responded in her accented voice, “Can I help you?”

 

Peter nodded, “Yes…Can you tell me where Mr. Stark is?”

 

“Certainly,” FRIDAY answered, “He is in the workshop. To the left of the hallway, past the kitchen, through the glass door, and down the stairs.”

 

Peter gave her a quiet ‘thank you’ before following her instructions. The hallway was long and the kitchen was enormous. A part of Peter wanted to laugh because he doubted Tony ever cooked in it. Pushing through the glass door in the back of the kitchen and making his way down the stairs, Peter was soon standing outside Tony’s workshop.

 

He could see Tony inside, his back turned facing a table as he sat on a stool. The workshop appeared much smaller than the one at the Compound and Peter wondered why the man wasn’t staying there instead of here. Peter pushed the door open silently, finding that Tony wasn’t tinkering but was instead speaking to someone on his cellphone.

 

“Listen, I want it perfect and I want it finished fast. The sooner the better and don’t drag the whole thing out and make it dramatic like my parents’ funeral was. Make it quick and easy.”

 

Peter’s heart clenched as Tony hung up immediately, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the mug next to him. If Peter had to guess, it was coffee. Keeping the man hinged together by the seams. Funeral…Funeral…

 

When Tony didn’t turn, Peter cleared his throat quietly. That caught Tony’s attention, causing him to whirl and face the teen. Bags were under his eyes and Peter wanted to cringe. Did Mr. Stark ever sleep? Peter was tired too though…He hadn’t slept very long…

 

Tony stood from the stool, saying, “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake already. As late as we got in last night and everything…”

 

Tension hung in the air and Peter wondered what it was. It wasn’t…angry tension. It was weird, sad, tension. Like between him and Aunt May when Uncle Ben had died. Neither knew what to say to each other and Peter felt on the brink of crumbling, but he couldn’t in front of Mr. Stark. Peter stepped forward and whispered, “I could say the same for you.”

 

Tony shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets, “A guy as popular as me has lots to do.”

 

Peter closed the space between them, peering over the table and asking, “What’re you working on?”

 

The man seemed surprised at the question. So much so, Peter wouldn’t make eye contact because he knew they would hold pity for him. Poor little Peter Parker. Orphaned twice over.

 

“Just one of my blasters…” Tony reached up slowly, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter flinched heavily, but didn’t pull away, instead he down-casted his eyes to his feet. Tony sighed deeply and said, “Kid, we need to talk.”

 

Peter shook his head. Because talking about it would make it _real_. Aunt May would never come back if this was all reality. He felt his eyes burn and Peter muttered, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Fear punched Tony in his chest. A familiar worry, like the night Peter had been dragged under water by the parachute _Tony_ had designed. Tony had once said that too, after his parents never came home.

 

Instead of trying again, Tony decided to take the lead. He used the hand on Peter’s shoulder to turn him so that he was facing Tony. Peter’s eyes remained down, even though Tony searched for them. Tried to make contact. He sighed, “There are… _things_ that are going to happen.”

 

Peter said nothing and Tony went on, “Things that are going to be different and I need to run them by you.”

 

This was business. It had to be business, because the way Peter was trembling below his hand made him sick and if it became more than business, he would have to burn down the city.

 

Then suddenly Peter was looking up at him with tears in his eyes and the boy practically whimpered, “Y-you don’t have to m-move me. I-I can stay in the apartment.”

 

Tony started to shake his head when Peter’s shoulders nearly collapsed and he weaved his fingers together. The kid was going to beg. And Tony was going to have to say no. Peter’s voice continued to crack, “Mr. Stark… _Please_ , that’s my h-home. It’s my home.”

 

Had Peter had a stutter before? Tony remembered his medical records. One of Tony’s many background checks on Peter. The kid had gone to speech-therapy, but he didn’t know what for. It was getting really bad. And Peter had more tears forming. Tony gripped the child’s shoulder tighter, to ground himself. Maybe to ground Peter too, but the boy cringed and Tony lightened his hold only in the slightest.

 

“Social Services isn’t going to let you live on your own,” Tony explained, trying to sound business-like, but it was hard because Peter’s eyes kept watering and a tear slipped through, “You’re fifteen and I’m not going to risk screwing up this process and getting you thrown into the foster system. That would be stupid on my part.”

 

Thank _God_ Peter looked down, because Tony couldn’t stand much more of the tears. He went on, clinically “People are going to be asking you lots of questions from now on and they’re going to piss you off sometimes. Questions from social services and even the media… _Shit_ when the media catches wind of this…”

 

Peter’s head snapped up and Tony suddenly looked distressed. Peter knew why. They were already having a field day about Captain America and the Accords, there was no telling how they would react to Tony Stark taking in an orphaned teenager…

 

Instead, Peter focused on the previous, croaking, “Social Services is going to ask more questions?”

 

Tony nodded, “It was a part of the deal. How we got you released last night instead of going through due-process. We’re going to have a meeting with them, then a court date will be set up to officially sign the papers.”

 

Peter’s eyes were wide, round, curious, and sad. Tony sighed when Peter questioned, “What papers?”

 

Tony sucked in a deep breath through his nose, drawing in as much patience as he could muster because this… _this_ would be the part that _sucked._ Even last night was a cake-walk, compared to this. Looking into Peter’s eyes and practically telling him his entire identity would be stripped because guardianship was only temporary…and…well…Tony didn’t do shit half-way.

 

“ _Papers_ ,” Tony began, breathed again, “that will ensure you’re not going to get put into the system. The lawyers say it’s the only fool-proof way of doing it without risking them deciding I’m incompetent because of what’s going on with the Accords and how the media is painting this picture.”

 

Peter looked away, confused, then realization seemed to smack the fifteen-year-old across the cheek. His eyes found Tony’s again. Hurt. He was hurt that no one had told him, but Tony couldn’t have. The kid was a mess the night before. Peter was falling apart right in front of him.

 

“They’re _making_ you adopt me,” Peter sounded like the air had been knocked out of him.

 

“Only in technicality,” Tony was trying again to sound like it wasn’t as big as it was, and Peter wanted to choke him, “It’s harder to take an adopted child away. If I only volunteered to be a guardian, there would be no security in that.”

 

When Peter stepped away, Tony continued hurriedly, “It’s the advice the lawyers gave me. You’re not exactly being saddled with the most trusted individual, especially one to be given a kid.”

 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” The tears were back, and this time with vengeance, “I wasn’t trying to get you ‘saddled’ with me, especially not this permanently. Y-you can’t _do_ this, Mr. Stark. It’s not o-okay.”

 

The stutter was back. Peter’s hands grabbed both side of his head, tugging at his hair, “I don’t understand what’s h-happening. Why can’t I just go home?”

 

“I told you why,” Tony answered bluntly.

 

Peter wished there had been meanness, so he could be angry, but there hadn’t been.

 

He tugged his hair harder, “Why’re you doing this?”

 

“Because I can,” Tony said.

 

Peter shook his head wildly, exclaiming, “That’s not why! You can do a lot of things, but why this!? Why!?”

 

The boy cringed when Tony’s voice came back low and stern. A voice that reminded him all too much of the Ferry Boat Incident, “You need to go get _actual_ sleep. You’re freaking out. Go lie down for a few more hours. You only slept three.”

 

“I’m not tired,” Peter’s face was sticky with tears.

 

“Bullshit,” Tony huffed.

 

Peter opened his mouth to argue more, but the lights were getting too bright and Tony’s voice was too loud. It was as if someone had cranked up the volume all of a suddenly and Peter nearly doubled over. He thought he could hear honking, until it faded in his ears and he found himself backing out of the workshop, watching Tony with wide eyes.

 

He wasn’t sure if Tony said anything else, but the next thing Peter knew, he was plopping down on the bed he had woken up in. He closed his eyes and thought of home, taking in the smell of his own pillow, because with that he could at least _pretend_ things were normal.

 

…

 

Tony was pissed at the funeral directors.

 

They didn’t listen. He’d tell them one thing and they’d decide they wanted to take it into a creative direction. Mostly he was pissed because they wanted to know what flowers to use but he didn’t know May’s favorite and he didn’t want to ask Peter who he had just sent to his room only an hour earlier.

 

The kid had started to lose it and Tony had sent him away. Which all in all had been kind of a bitchy move on his part.

 

But Peter was sleeping, at least Tony assumed he was and that was good. The kid needed to sleep. The next several weeks would be rough with a lot of changes and Peter seemed less than thrilled to hear of the plan that the lawyers had drawn up the night before.

 

Tony’s phone buzzed for the millionth time. Pepper. He ignored it.

 

Endless emails from Rhodey and Ross concerning Steve and the others. Clint and Scott Lang had been placed on house arrest. He received regular updates, but Ross wasn’t happy that Steve, Barnes, Natasha, Wanda, _and_ Sam were still gone. Vision stayed at the Compound and didn’t do much. Not without Wanda. Which was why Tony had been avoiding the place. Tony was tempted to find the phone Steve left him and call the man. Chew him out. Give him a piece of his mind.

 

Scold him for trying to pry his chest out with a freaking shield.

 

It was too bad Tony couldn’t just take a personal day from everything. From everyone. That was a selfish thought. The kid in the other room was the one that probably needed a personal day, which was mostly why Tony was trying to keep him in bed. At least for the next several days until Tony could figure things out.

 

Save the kid a bit of suffering.

 

FRIDAY announced suddenly, “Boss, Happy Hogan is entering.”

 

Tony whirled in his chair to see Happy pushing open the glass doors and entering the workshop. He was carrying several large bags on his arms and his face was red. Happy plopped the bags on a nearby table and Tony raised an eyebrow in his direction, asking, “Are you trying to have a heart attack?”

 

Happy reached into the bags and pulled out several large books, speaking in panted breaths, “Law…books…thought they…could help.”

 

“That’s what the lawyers are for,” Tony grunted, turning back to face his work station.

 

Happy approached, holding up his cellphone, “The text you sent about the kid’s reaction didn’t seem that great. If he doesn’t want to be adopted, we should find another way around it.”

 

Tony tinkered more with his blaster. Part of him was irritated. Tony hummed, “I’m going to sign whatever I have to, to make sure that kid stays out of the system, Happy.”

 

Happy stopped directly beside Tony. Tony looked up at Happy, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him away a few inches, gently. Happy narrowed his eyes before saying, “You can’t just… _force_ the kid to become Peter _Stark_. It’s almost cruel. With your name comes a lot of baggage.”

 

Tony slammed the screw driver down suddenly, but Happy didn’t flinch, and the desired effect was lost immediately, pissing Tony off more. He snapped, “You don’t get it.”

 

“Then explain it to me,” Happy responded duly.

 

The other man’s teeth gritted tightly and Tony felt his hand clench and unclench. His eyes scanned the room as he groaned, “Two months ago, May Parker caught Peter wearing the Spider-Man suit. She called me. She was pissed and I convinced her to meet me in person. I promised that woman…”

 

Tony paused, continuing, “I promised her I’d take care of the kid, okay? I promised her.”

 

“I think that falls under the lines of being a hero,” Happy looked sorry, “Not… _adopting_ her nephew in the case of her death.”

 

Tony hit the table again. Still no desired effect as he shouted, “What do you want me to do!? This is what the lawyers are telling me, Happy, and I don’t think any number of books on child custody is going to change the fact that seven lawyers think that I’m too screwed up to properly become a guardian. This is the only way to go around it.”

 

“Taking in a child isn’t something that should have loopholes,” Happy said.

 

Tony looked away.

 

“Go order the kid some lunch,” Tony huffed, picking up his screw driver, turning his back on Happy.

 

…

 

Peter knew something was really wrong the moment his eyes opened.

 

Fire burned into his eyes from the window, and he rolled over, covering his face. It was too bright. Bright. Bright. Everything felt like it was burning and the sounds of horns honking and voices overpowered even his own breathing. He could hear heartbeats, all around him, in every angle and suddenly the urge to vomit threatened to appear.

 

Oh God, Oh God…

 

Eleven.

 

It had only happened a few times before. Always in times of great distress. When his powers were new, the day after the spider bite. The night after Uncle Ben had died. Those were the most vivid. When he was locked in his closet for hours and his aunt thought he was just mourning. Just crying. She had tried to comfort him, but the knocking on his door had been too much.

 

He had screamed for her to leave.

 

Her touch had felt like fire.

 

Peter groaned, crying out when a particularly loud honk met his ears. He rolled from the bed, crawling towards the closet close to the bathroom. Slipping inside, Peter shut the door, enveloping himself in the dark.

 

The closet was large and empty. Nothing of Peter’s was in the room yet. He curled around himself in the corner, tears tearing through his eyelids that he kept them shut tightly. Even the light from the bottom of the door seemed like too much and the streets so many stories below were too loud. He shouldn’t have been able to hear them from this height.

 

God, he couldn’t breathe.

 

Suddenly, the thick smell of fish filled his nose and Peter nearly gagged when the closet door swung open. The light flashed and Peter let out a loud sob, covering his head completely when he saw Happy carrying a box of sushi, backgrounded by the brightness coming in.

 

Tears. Crying. Sobbing. Even his own _pain_ was too loud.

 

“Kid, what’s going on?” Too _loud_.

 

Peter hissed, “Please stop, please, stop.”

 

The closet light switched on. Peter wailed in agony, but it didn’t switch back off. Happy kneeled beside him and touched his arm, but Peter cringed away, sobbing too hard to speak. To explain. The light hurt so much. It felt like the sun was in his room.

 

“Talk to me!” Happy ordered.

 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Peter’s chest quaked.

 

Overload.

 

Everything was too close, too loud, too bright.

 

Happy shouted for Tony. There were booming footsteps, louder than the ones in the city below them and those sons-of-bitches were stomping.

 

Then Tony was there, tugging at him, making it hurt worse with his touch.

 

Tony wasn’t like Happy. He was relentless. Peter felt hands grab his arms and he was yanked into an upward position. Tony then began to pry at the hands over his ears. Tony ordered harshly, “Open your eyes. _Look_ at us. What’s wrong?”

 

Peter could barely crack open his bloodshot eyes as he croaked, “Dialed.”

 

Gasping, he ground out again, “Dialed…Everything is at eleven.”

 

Tony seemed to understand suddenly. He released Peter, turning to Happy before ordering, “Turn that damned light off.”

 

Happy scurried to do so and sweet darkness befell Peter as Tony disappeared. More running footsteps. They returned. Tony came back and something was with him. Tony once more pried Peter’s hands from his ears, but whatever took the place of his hands was heavenly.

 

Something metal. Like tiny earbuds.

 

Peter welcomed them, because with them came silence and suddenly the closet door was shut and Tony was there, barely touching him, careful, with the things in Peter’s ears.

 

It was a welcomed mercy.

 

Empty, but welcomed.

 

…

 

It was a nest.

 

That’s practically what it looked like when Tony was done with it. The large closet was turned into a makeshift bed for the kid, filled to the brim with pillows and blankets. And sure, Happy had been annoyed to be the guy that had to keep running back and forth with more comforters and pillows, but Tony wanted to sit with the kid. Make sure the sound diffusers he had stuck in the teen’s ears were working properly.

 

He wanted to make sure Peter was oblivious to the world. At least for the moment.

 

He had made sure the pillow placed under Peter’s head was his own. It didn’t smell or look like the others, but the moment it had been put under Peter’s head, the kid had curled into it. Blankets covered him, surrounded him, and eventually Tony stood, satisfied with his work. Happy was breathing heavily from being sent around the penthouse.

 

“Is he…okay?” Happy whispered in the dim closet.

 

Tony nodded, “Think so. The sound diffusers should keep the noise out.”

 

Happy sighed, “What was that?”

 

Tony turned, exiting the closet. Happy followed him out and Tony shut the door, leaving only a crack, concerned about shutting the kid up all the way. That felt wrong somehow. Tony held onto the handle for a few more moments before turning to Happy and explaining, “His senses…He told me when we met that after he got his powers, they were dialed to eleven. Must have been some sort of overload.”

 

“Shit,” Happy breathed, “Kid can’t catch a break.”

 

Happy was right. Peter couldn’t catch a break, but Tony was willing to bet that the overload had stemmed from the stress of the night before and that morning. Peter was suffering, emotionally, now physically, and if Tony wasn’t so inept at comfort, he would have tried to do something more the night before. Something other than trying to throw a pill at the kid, but that was how Tony handled things and even if he wanted Peter to be better, he didn’t know how to guide him to that without becoming as overbearing as Howard.

 

Tony gave one last glance at the closet before exiting the bedroom. Happy followed behind and just as they entered the kitchen, the elevator door in the foyer dinged. Tony stalled, surprised FRIDAY hadn’t informed him that someone was entering the penthouse.

 

Pepper stepped out of the elevator. He turned to face her, his arms crossing over his chest as she approached the two men in the kitchen, a determined look splashed on her features. Her heels clicked loudly and Tony’s eyebrows raised when she paused in front of them.

 

Tony spoke, “Uhhhh, meetings in California. Many meetings. Meetings that my fiancée is supposed to be attending for the next two weeks.”

 

“Yeah well,” Pepper sounded…angry to say the least. But it was something Tony had grown accustomed to in their time together, “ _Someone_ wasn’t answering his phone, so I got an emergency flight back here.”

 

Tony looked at Happy and said, “I think she doesn’t trust us.”

 

Happy shook his head, “Not us. You. I answered when she called me.”

 

Tony’s jaw dropped and he put a hand on his chest, “Betrayal.”

 

“Tony!” Pepper shouted, causing the man to whirl back towards her. Her face was pink with frustration and Tony would have laughed, because it was cute, but she seemed serious and would probably scour the kitchen for a knife if he did. She continued, frustrated, “I want an explanation, right now. What is happening with Peter? Why haven’t you been answering my phone calls?”

 

Almost like a child caught stealing from a cookie jar, Tony turned his head towards the ceiling, unable to look her in the eyes. Tony cleared his throat, humming something to himself before speaking rather duly, “Well, I talked to the lawyers and they think the best course of action is to legally adopt the kid.”

 

She must not have believed him at first, because a small laugh escaped her. Then seriousness crept back in and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Tony had the slight urge to put the counter top between himself and the woman. Pepper’s fingers weaved together. Happy stepped back.

 

“You’re not serious,” Pepper said bluntly.

 

Happy scoffed, “I thought the same thing.”

 

Tony groaned, like a teenager, stepping around the counter and moving to the coffee machine. His head was starting to ache from staying up all night and he had hoped he’d have two weeks before he had to have this conversation with Pepper. Pepper’s heels clacked as she followed him and exclaimed, “Tony, a child isn’t a car you can just go buy on a whim!”

 

Tony looked at her, his features slightly hurt, “I’m not _buying_ Peter.”

 

“It sounds like you are,” Pepper insisted, “Have you even talked to him about this? Gotten his input on the situation?”

 

“He’s not thrilled,” Tony snapped.

 

Pepper’s face contorted into one of an enraged woman, ready to shove her stiletto into Tony’s eye. He reached for his freshly brewed cup of coffee and took a scalding gulp of the bitter liquid, no sugar needed.

 

Pepper’s voice was getting colder, “And you’re still going to go against the child’s wishes. After everything he has been through. Everything. You’re going to piggy-back a forced adoption on him.”

 

Tony shook his head, “He doesn’t _understand_. The kid even said it himself; he doesn’t understand everything that’s happening. Once he _gets_ it-“

 

“He’s not going to _get_ it!” Pepper exclaimed, “He’s fifteen and his last relative has just died, just as tragically as the other three! There’s nothing here for him to understand!”

 

“He’s my responsibility!” And suddenly the mug of hot liquid was shattering against the counter. Pepper jumped in surprise and Happy eyed the mess with a blank expression. It scalded the palm of Tony hand, but it wasn’t nearly as hot as the anger boiling inside of him. Not at Pepper. At _himself_. Convincing himself this was a good idea. It was the only way.

 

Pepper whispered, “I know you promised May. I know, okay? I was there. But promising a woman something over coffee and adopting her nephew are two completely different things. This isn’t Sokovia. This isn’t…It’s not like that, Tony.”

 

Tony gritted his teeth, “It’s not like I’m asking to be his father or some shit. I’m just trying to keep him out of the system. It gives the kid security.”

 

“Tony,” Pepper’s voice was so soft, Tony wanted to melt in it, but her final words made him wants to step away all together…

 

“When you sign those papers, that’s exactly what you become. A father.”

 

…

 

Peter woke disoriented, surrounded by a strange silence.

 

Usually, he could hear his breathing. Hear honking. Hear something when he woke up. But this silence was depth and it was a large contrast from what had occurred. He remembered…the brightness of the lights and Happy trying to help him. The smell of sushi and Tony sticking something in his ears and finally…Finally…Peace.

 

Peter’s fingers crawled out around him. He was surrounded by pillows, a comfortable little nest on the floor of the closet, light peeking through a crack in the door. Peter’s hands climbed to his ears as he rolled over onto his stomach. Gently he plucked out the devices, eyeing them the best he could in the shadows.

 

Sound diffusers.

 

_Nice_.

 

Peter inspected them briefly. He had never seen any so small, but Tony had cool gadgets. Carefully, Peter pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his head pounded in his ears and the slight ache of the aftermath. He felt better. More put together. Like he had been shredded then glued back.

 

He exited the closet. The sunlight didn’t hurt as much as last time, other than the usual irritation of having just woken. Peter placed the earbuds on the dresser before making his way towards the bedroom door, slinking out into the hallway.

 

Déjà vu.

 

Maybe he had slept too much, because he felt lethargic. The hallway tilted in the slightest as he walked down it, following the voices he heard. Tony’s, Happy’s…A lady?

 

Peter looked around the corner into the kitchen…Oh…Ms. Potts.

 

He had only met the woman on a few occasions. Passing by mostly. She was always moving, going somewhere, a lot like Mr. Stark. But she seemed more business savvy and Tony appeared to move because of an inner need to not stay still. Maybe Pepper wanted to stop moving, but couldn’t either. She was very similar to Mr. Stark in that way.

 

Everyone looked tense and for a moment Peter considered going back to his room when Mr. Stark told the other two individuals, “Stop ganging up on me.”

 

Peter blinked. Tony’s eyes happened to catch him in the corner of the room and Tony’s stiff expression slackened as he called towards the teen, “Don’t gotta hide from the adults, kid.”

 

The boy felt his back go rod-straight as he stepped out of his hiding spot. Everyone’s head yanked in his direction and he suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope. A spider. Peter stepped forward a few feet as Tony moved around the counter and approached him. A hand was placed on Peter’s shoulder and there was a slight squeeze.

 

“You feeling better?” Tony questioned.

 

Peter simply nodded and Pepper’s face contorted into confusion as she asked, “What happened?”

 

“Sensory overload, super-spidey-things,” Tony answered before Peter got the chance. The teen found himself being tugged towards the barstool and told to sit.

 

He peered up at Pepper through his bangs and greeted quietly, “Hi Ms. Potts.”

 

Her smile was sad and Peter wanted to cringe. She replied, “Hi Peter…Have they fed you today? You look a bit pale.”

 

“Well we tried,” Tony butt in, swinging open the fridge. He reached inside, pulling out a small plastic container. Peter could tell there was sushi inside, even before Tony plopped it on the counter in front of the boy. Tony continued, “But he got sick.”

 

Peter stared down at the food. It was raw sushi. His heart clenched at a painful memory and just as he was about to say something, Tony’s phone shrieked with life. Peter flinched and Tony dug around in his pocket, pulling out the device. He stared at the caller-ID before he held up his index finger and moved into the glass doors leading to the workshop below. Happy followed, without hesitation and Peter tilted his head with curiosity.

 

He returned his attention to the sushi in front of him just as Pepper sat beside him.

 

A soft hand touched his arm and Pepper asked quietly, “Are you alright?”

 

Peter gave her a silent stare in return and she shook her head, “Not like that. I know the answer to that one.”

 

Biting his lip, Peter folded his hands together before answering in a hushed tone, “J-Just my head.”

 

Peter didn’t know Pepper very well, but there was something comforting in her touch. Something that reminded him vividly of Aunt May. Her eyes held that same softness of someone who wasn’t a mother, but was comforting nonetheless. Held the same position. The same power that a woman with a child held.

 

She cleared her throat, beginning, “Tony told me that he talked to you about what the lawyers suggested.”

 

Peter nodded and Pepper continued, “Tell me what you think about it. Honest. Tell me how it makes you feel.”

 

God, Peter had been wrong. Pepper was nothing like Tony. She was patient. She wanted to hear his opinion. There wasn’t the yelling or talking over Peter just because Peter was fifteen. Pepper truly wanted to hear his voice on the subject, without the worry of being sent to his room for raising his voice too loud.

 

“I’m afraid.”

 

Pepper’s brows furrowed and Peter elaborated, “I-I’m afraid because I don’t know what that means. It’s papers, but what else? I know it’s not going to be like home…l-like it was with Aunt May. Mr. Stark is gone a lot. He’s hardly ever in the city. There’ll be no Thai-Nights and no board games and no goodnights and no…”

 

Peter bit his lip, “It’s just paper…But Ms. Potts…Tony took my suit away one time. A-and what if…the paper means he’s my guardian and…”

 

“He worries you,” Pepper provided.

 

Peter nodded, “I make him mad sometimes. I don’t always listen, but it wasn’t like he was Aunt May and could tell me what to do. He could take the suit, sure…B-but…if he signs those papers, it’s like Aunt May was never here.”

 

He then groaned, leaning forward a bit, “I’m not his responsibility. I know he thinks I am, but I’m not.”

 

When Pepper said nothing in return, Peter whispered, “Ms. Potts…I’m just some kid from Queens.”

 

Pepper’s hand on him tightened in the slightest. She leaned forward as well, trying to make eye contact with him and Peter hesitantly lifted his eyes. She insisted, “You’re not, Peter. Not to Tony. I’ve never seen him protect someone so fiercely…”

 

She paused. Something flashed across her eyes and Peter could see it. See some kind of light being clicked on behind her skull…

 

_“Except me.”_

Both of them jumped suddenly when the door flew back open and Tony reentered with Happy in tow. Peter noticed something in Tony’s expression. Something that the elder man was trying desperately hard to hide. Knowledge of something imminent and when he stopped in front of Peter and Pepper, he opened and closed his mouth several times…

 

He was trying to find the words.

 

“Tony?” Pepper asked.

 

Tony ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t look at Pepper, bit instead turned his attention pointedly to Peter and said, “The funeral is in two days.”

 

Peter’s eyes turned into large brown saucers, “Why?”

 

Tony looked surprised by the question and Peter felt himself backtrack. Yeah…That was a weird thing to ask. _Why?_ Because she was dead. That’s what you did to dead people. You buried them or cremated them. You held a ceremony so that there would be closure. Then you went home and ate all the food that people brought you.

 

He had lived that too many times for someone his age.

 

Peter’s hands tightened on either side of his uneaten sushi as he whispered, “Please don’t bury her. I…I don’t....”

 

Tony blinked, “Kid…If I could bring her back for you, I would. But I can’t. So, this is the next step.”

 

Peter started to stand up, but Tony stopped him, saying, “You gotta eat something.”

 

He paused, looking at the man. Then at Happy and Pepper. They all looked so concerned. So sorry. Peter’s hands were shaking from lack of eating. His blood sugar had plummeted and just standing had drained him. Peter croaked, and lied, “I don’t like raw sushi.”

 

_Not because it had been Aunt May’s favorite. Not because it was what they ate for weeks after Uncle Ben died. Not because it was her comfort food while they piled up on the couch together and watched old movies and wished for him to come back._

Tony shot a look at Happy as if it were somehow his fault. Happy’s jaw dropped and Tony looked away digging through the cabinet before pulling out a nutrition bar and tossing it at Peter. He caught it easily as Tony ordered, “Eat that at least.”

 

Slowly, Peter sank back into the seat.

 

Another phone came to life. Except this time it was Pepper who stepped aside to answer it. She pointed for Tony to follow her and he did so, actually looking reluctant.

 

Happy looked at Peter and Peter felt so terribly small.

 

…

 

“Someone sold the story.”

 

Tony blinked at Pepper who had just hung up a conversation with their press agent. Tony felt his shoulders tense because he knew immediately what she meant. Someone had sold the story on Peter. Someone had let the press know what had taken place the night before in that hospital. Someone had sold them out.

 

He was pissed.

 

When he said nothing, only held his knuckles until they turned white, Pepper sighed, “It must have been someone at the hospital. An employee or maybe just someone who saw you leaving.”

 

“Find out who it was,” Tony ordered and Pepper pointed a finger at him.

 

“You must think I’m crazy,” Pepper huffed, “I’m not going to risk you going out and getting arrested for first-degree murder over someone selling a story that was going to get out anyway.”

 

Pepper stepped around him, moving towards the door. She paused, looking back at her fiancé who was running a hand over his face. He looked so tired. So not himself. So…vulnerable. There were no jokes hiding his anger or his despair. It was as if the bricks of the situation had just been dropped on his shoulders.

 

He looked almost…Deceased.

 

“You’re really going to do this…” Pepper whispered.

 

Tony turned to face her fully. He was silent. Then he nodded, “I’m going to do what I have to do.”

 

Pepper grimaced, “Do you even know what that is?”

 

…

 

Peter had realized quite suddenly he had joined some kind of club with Pepper.

 

There was something incredibly worrying about being in this club. A club established after he had said he was just a kid from Queens. When her eyes lit up in realization that the two of them were very similar. That Tony was going to get himself killed or put in prison for their sakes. Peter hadn’t wanted or intended to join this club, but he was in it now, he supposed. Against his will, at that.

 

The rest of the day had gone by quietly. Tony avoided him. Not looking him in the eyes. It was as if once it was established that Peter was okay after the sensory overload, Tony had disappeared altogether. Pepper promised he was just making funeral arrangements. Swore to him even. But that was hard to believe when she looked so angry at Mr. Stark. Like she was annoyed that he had been side stepping Peter whose aunt had died not even twenty-four hours before.

 

She was dead. There was this empty pit in him that said that wasn’t true. Maybe he was in the denial stage of grief. A process he had gone through so many times before. Still, it never got easier and this time hurt so much worse because Aunt May had been the only one left. The only one that still shared his name and now he was going to lose his name.

 

Then again, he could be slipping into the angry stage. Because something was burning in the back of his mind because Mr. Stark wouldn’t listen to him. He was constantly saying how he was the only one who really listened to Peter, but God knows that wasn’t true. No one was listening to Peter. No one. Except Ms. Potts. She had looked him in the eyes and listened and it had felt so good to speak to someone.

 

Mr. Stark had sent him to his room when he had been confused and hurt. Mr. Stark had told him he was freaking out, and maybe he was, but the man should have listened. He should have let Peter talk.

 

_“You need to go get actual sleep. You’re freaking out.”_

There were so many unanswered questions. What would he do about school? Midtown buses didn’t come out this far. It was too long of a walk. Was Happy going to drive him? Would they end up yanking the rug out from under him even more and send him to that stupid school with uniforms where the kids always won competitions because of their last names?

 

No, no, no.

 

Peter jumped from the bed and began to pace in the darkness. He couldn’t breathe and hurriedly he moved to the window and cracked it in the slightest, allowing a breeze into the room. He was almost forced to stick his head out into the cold night air in order to breathe.

 

Glancing silently at his backpack, Peter’s brain wracked for an escape. He scurried over to it, slipping out the red and blue suit. Hurriedly, he changed and as the suit tightened around him and he pulled the mask over his head, he didn’t waste time before slipping out the window into the night, shooting his web towards the adjacent building.

 

Karen tried to speak. Tried to talk to him. But Peter muted her without hesitation.

 

It already felt better, flying through the air.

 

The tightness in his chest retreated. He soared without difficulty. Still, his body trembled as he headed towards Queens. He needed to talk. He needed to find Ned.

 

Peter landed on top of an apartment complex, feet thudding on the gravel covering the roof.

 

Fire escape. Window.

 

He knocked.

 

The room was dark and for a moment, Peter thought that maybe Ned wasn’t home. However, after the third knock, a light switched on and there was a shadow of movement. Ned’s face appeared behind the glass, his face lighting up at the sight of the Spider-Man mask.

 

Ned practically threw the window open and exclaimed, though his voice was hushed slightly, “Dude!”

 

Peter climbed in and shut the window behind him to block out the cold night air. Peter slipped his mask off and asked, “Is your mom home?”

 

“Yeah, but she’s asleep already,” Ned responded, going to shut the bedroom door.

 

Peter sighed with relief, plopping down on the window-seat. He hadn’t even realized he was out of breath. He had swung viciously and quickly, but it had been cold and he didn’t want to turn on the heater in the suit.

 

It made him feel something…to be cold.

 

Ned approached before sitting down beside him. Pure Ned fashion, he didn’t hesitate to ask, “Are you okay?”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow and Ned sighed, “You know what I mean.”

 

“I’m…” Peter trailed off. Suddenly a knot formed in his throat. _Don’t cry in front of Ned…If you cry he’ll cry and it’ll be a mess._ Peter’s fists clenched and he breathed out slowly, “No…I’m not.”

 

Ned gulped, “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

_Yes._

Peter clenched his teeth. Great. His eyes were burning now. Peter ran a hand through his hair and he whispered, “The funeral is in two days.”

 

Ned blinked, “So soon?”

 

“Mr. Stark is…rushing it,” Peter answered, “I can tell he is…H-He keeps calling people, saying things have to be quick.”

 

Ned sighed, “Maybe it’s better that way…Like ripping off a band-aid.”

 

_But Aunt May wasn’t a band-aid. She was a good person. Practically a mother._

Peter’s fingers tightened. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, “Ned, the lawyers are making Mr. Stark _adopt_ me…”

 

Ned’s eyes widened like saucers, “What!?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter turned to face him. There were definitely tears now, “What am I going to do? I-I can’t be adopted by Mr. Stark. He’s only doing it because he feels guilty and responsible and I don’t want him to do this.”

 

His best friend looked like he had no words and Peter all but whimpered…

 

“Three years, Ned. That would be three years of being dragged around places and people shoving cameras in my face and I-I can’t. Not after Aunt May. I feel like someone carved out my chest and…And whatever scab was left after Uncle Ben died was ripped open too. It’s bigger now and it’s _swallowing_ me, Ned. What do I _do_ , man?”

 

The tears were falling freely and just as Peter expected, Ned’s eyes were tearing up as well.

 

“Pete,” Ned whispered, wrapping his arms around his friend’s shoulders, “I’m so sorry.”

 

Peter knew that was all Ned could say. Because Ned was fifteen too and sure the two of them were great academically, but this was something neither could comprehend. It wasn’t something they could study for. Peter hugged Ned back fiercely, letting the tears flow freely now, despite his desire to protect Ned from the emotional turmoil he was experiencing.

 

Ned held him, not like a parent, not like Aunt May, but like a best friend.

 

And Peter knew, Ned had loved Aunt May too.

 

It took almost ten minutes for him to grasp himself. When Peter pulled away his eyes were puffy and Ned’s Star Wars pajama top was stained with tears. _The Empire Strikes Back._ A good night turned awful. Peter looked away and said, “I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” Ned shook his head, “We’re _best_ friends. You can come to me for anything.”

 

Peter knew that. And he hoped Ned knew the same applied for him. They sat in a silence for a long time. It could have been minutes or hours, Peter wasn’t sure. Time was weird now. It felt like Aunt May had been dead forever, but it had only been a day. His fingers curled and uncurled and he said, “I should go back before Mr. Stark notices I’m gone. I just wanted to make sure you were in the loop.”

 

_Plus, I was having a panic attack and needed to leave that place._

Peter stood. Said his goodbyes. Later he would scold himself for crying so hard. For making Ned cry too. But right now, things just felt better. Calmer. The ache in his chest had eased a little and he knew it would return, but at least right now the pressure was taken care of.

 

Peter took off through the window, feeling lighter.

 

That was until he was about halfway to the penthouse.

 

He didn’t know how it happened, really. It shouldn’t have. They had made adjustments to his webbing several times before. Especially after the D.C. incident when he had fallen down the elevator shaft. Trying to make the webbing stronger. Last longer. But for some reason, and maybe it was due to his own fault, he had been sent plummeting into the street below.

 

Not far enough to kill him. Maybe a normal person, but not Peter.

 

He hit the pavement hard, listening as several bystanders gasped in shock and a horn honked loudly. The taxi swerved to keep from running him over and Peter groaned, dazed from the smack. He had slid to a stop, his ribs burning with road rash and just the overall impact. He knew at least two ribs had snapped and his forehead felt warm with blood.

 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

Peter rolled to his feet, despite the discomfort and immediately shot a web upward, continuing back towards the penthouse. People had tried to ask if he was alright, but he couldn’t stop. His mask was being soaked with the blood from his head and he worried it would eventually reach his eyes.

 

How had that happened?

 

Peter slid through the window, back into the room, relieved to find the bedroom door still shut. Silently, he closed the window, finding the room to be extremely chilled as he ripped off his bloodstained mask and moved into the bathroom to get a better look.

 

Damn it.

 

His head was bleeding. A gash directly above his eyebrow. And while it wasn’t particularly deep and would probably heal after some sleep, he noticed the bruise beginning to smart around it as well. Peter slipped the suit off until he was stripped to his boxers and inspected his ribcage. It too was already turning a deep shade that wasn’t his own.

 

The road rash burned, but not as much as the ache in his ribs.

 

Peter blotted toilet paper over the gash on his head, sitting on the toilet seat to catch his breath.

 

Surely, he’d heal by morning.


	4. Funerals Give Birth to Children Everyday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a pause…then the AI informed, “Peter is in a deep sleep, sir.”
> 
> The man rolled his eyes and snapped, “That’s why I told you to wake him up.”
> 
> Another pause. This time longer and Tony thought maybe she had gotten him to wake up. He turned back towards the papers and began to gather them just as she said, “Sir, Peter is in a deep drug-induced sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for your beautiful comments. There's something wonderful about reading the analyses people write about this story and I'm glad the themes are becoming clear. Let me know what you think of this chapter with a comment. Love you guys. <3

The first thing that escaped him when he woke up was a loud groan.

 

Peter rolled over, his chest still aching from the night before. His head was pounding as he squinted his eyes open against the birth of sunlight coming through the window. He had to get some curtains, desperately. They were too large.

 

His face half buried in the mattress, Peter pushed himself up, taking and gulping in deep breaths to keep himself from vomiting like he wanted to. He stumbled into the bathroom, using the counter to lean against. Was this what a hang-over felt like? If so, he couldn’t imagine anyone desiring to drink. He wondered how Mr. Stark did it so often.

 

Peter looked at himself in the mirror, surprised at what he saw.

 

The gash was still just as large as it had been the night before. If anything, the bruising had worsened. Peter grabbed the hem of his shirt to check his ribs and sure enough, the purple discoloration there was just as bad. Confusion struck him like a brick and Peter tilted his head curiously.

 

Peter whispered, “What’s wrong with me?”

 

FRIDAY’s voice erupted suddenly, causing Peter to flinch in surprise as she announced, “Scanning.”

 

The teen stared at the ceiling with disdain at the AI’s sudden interference. She then said, “Peter, it appears you’ve sustained two fractured ribs and a concussion. You should clean and dress the wound on your forehead.”

 

Peter wasn’t used to AI’s outside of his suit and even then, he still hadn’t completely adjusted to Karen. He hadn’t even spoken to the AI the night before. Hadn’t greeted her. The need for actual human interaction had outweighed the need to speak to her. He had needed Ned. Peter tiled his head though, as if the AI were actually living in the roof…

 

“Why am I not healing?”

 

“Scanning,” FRIDAY said again.

 

Peter stared at himself. He was pale and bags had formed under his eyes. He was hungry, the nutrition bar being the most of his food the day before and maybe that mixed with the concussion was why he felt so weak.

 

FRIDAY eventually came back to life, explaining, “It seems you are under extreme emotional and physical stress. It is impeding your enhanced healing.”

 

Peter blinked…Could that even happen? Had that been why he fell last night…? Maybe it had nothing to do with the chemical compound in his webs, maybe it had been himself. Peter looked down at his trembling hands and shook his head. He was going to be in so much trouble if Tony saw his face, he already knew it.

 

FRIDAY made him cringe, “Shall I inform Boss of your injuries?”

 

“No!” Peter exclaimed.

 

FRIDAY was silent as Peter wracked his brain, asking, “How do I fix it?”

 

“Resolving your emotional turmoil would be the best cure.”

 

Peter scoffed, “You make it sound easy.”

 

Suddenly, something clicked.

 

Peter peeked his head out of the bathroom, eyes scanning the bedroom before they fell on the orange bottle placed on the bedside table. Peter reentered the room, approaching the bottle as if it were some kind of creature threatening to turn and run from him. As soon as he was in arms reach, he snatched it up, inspecting the label.

 

“Will this help me relax?” Peter questioned the AI.

 

“Yes,” FRIDAY answered, “The medication’s prime function is to calm anxiety.”

 

Peter pursed his lips and grinned in triumph. He opened the bottle, pouring four of the white pills into his hand. He moved to the bathroom, turning on the sink and just as he was about to pop the pills into his mouth, FRIDAY interrupted, “Peter, it is suggested that someone of your height and weight only take one.”

 

“Yeah but…” Peter blinked, “My metabolism. It’s hard to get medicine to work on me.”

 

Then, without hesitation, Peter threw the medicine back, washing it down with the sink water.

 

…

 

Tony had, potentially, the cover of every major newspaper and magazine in the nation set out in front of him on the coffee table.

 

He leaned over them, his elbows on his knees from his place on the couch. Happy was sitting across from him, staring. Watching. Waiting for Tony to explode at any given point. Pepper had sent them over that morning, after having received them from their press agent. She had left to return to California to finish up the meetings…

 

Tony wished for her to come back. She was better at dealing with this than he was.

 

Scratching his chin, Tony let out an irritated growl. Freedom of press was important. Needed. Vital. But it was times like these that he wished he could buy everyone’s silence. But the money they would make off of the stories didn’t compare to a payoff from Tony Stark. He knew that. So, there was really no point in being even remotely whimsical about it.

 

Tony snapped, causing Happy to jump to attention, “I’m going to sue all of them.”

 

Happy raised an eyebrow, “So you’re going to sue every news outlet in the nation? Because you know that’s who’s going to be running this story. Everyone.”

 

Tony glared. Not _helping_.

 

He shoved the papers, sending them flying to the floor before he stood and began to pace anxiously. Happy leaned forward in his seat and sighed, “There’s nothing we can do. We just have to…brace for impact.”

 

“Do you have any idea what this means?” Tony growled, “What this is going to do to the funeral? It’s going to be just as awful as my parents’. Paparazzi. People wanting to get a glimpse…Jesus…I was trying to save the kid from that kind of experience.”

 

His blood was boiling. His ears rushing. Not even the shot of whiskey he had taken for his nerves had helped, but it was too early for anything more and Pepper had still been there. He didn’t want her to smell it when she kissed him goodbye. That was sure to bring on another lecture about how much she hated it and how Peter probably didn’t need a guardian that drank when he got too stressed.

 

It was all very smothering.

 

Tony pulled at the tie around his neck. Like he was being choked to death, but it wasn’t even pulled taut. He had been shaking for two days now. The funeral was so soon and he was rushing all of it. They needed to get it out of the way. Get the kid free of the burden. The dark cloud.

 

“Speaking of funeral,” Happy hummed, “The kid’s fitting for his suit is in two hours. We might want to leave soon if we’re going to make it through traffic.”

 

Tony whirled to face him, cursing quietly before saying, “I forgot to even tell the kid about that.”

 

He tilted his head to the ceiling ever so slightly and called out, “FRIDAY.”

 

“Yes boss,” Her voice appeared.

 

Tony sighed, “Wake the kid up and tell him we need to get him fitted for his suit.”

 

There was a pause…then the AI informed, “Peter is in a deep sleep, sir.”

 

The man rolled his eyes and snapped, “That’s why I told you to wake him up.”

 

Another pause. This time longer and Tony thought maybe she had gotten him to wake up. He turned back towards the papers and began to gather them just as she said, “Sir, Peter is in a deep _drug-induced_ sleep.”

 

Happy and Tony made brief eye contact. Very brief, before Tony was dropping the papers and both were moving towards the bedroom at a quick pace. Tony threw the door open, taking in the room that was illuminated by the sun. Peter was on the bed, curled on his side, facing away from the two men. Tony rushed towards the bed, and without hesitation, grabbing Peter by the arm and yanked him onto his back.

 

“What happened to his head?” Happy gasped.

 

Tony didn’t respond. Simply sat on the edge of the mattress and tried his best to prop Peter up on the headboard. Peter’s face was lax, oblivious to the world around him and if Tony hadn’t just been told the kid was in some kind of drug-coma, he would have just assumed the boy was exhausted from the prior events of the past days.

 

He patted Peter’s face gently, saying, “Peter, wake up.”

 

Peter didn’t even stir. Didn’t react. Tony tried again and still nothing. Tony’s eyes drifted to the bedside table and on its side, was the orange bottle he had gotten the night they brought Peter home. Tony gulped and asked, “FRIDAY, how many did he take?”

 

“Four, boss,” FRIDAY answered.

 

Happy’s face dropped, “Shit, kid.”

 

“Peter, wake up,” Tony’s voice was louder this time. He shook Peter’s shoulders and the child’s head simply fell to the side limply. Tony put a hand on Peter’s face, taking a deep breath, then smacking the fifteen-year-old, hard. Happy made a distressed sound.

 

Peter groaned, cringed in pain as he turned, as if trying to escape. His eyes cracked open and Tony nearly looked away, because Peter’s looked so foggy. Drugged. Peter blinked blearily, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then shutting it again. His brows were pulled together in puzzlement, fear, then puzzlement again.

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaked, his words running, “What’s wrong?”

 

Tony’s face burned with anger.

 

What’s _wrong_?

 

Tony grabbed Peter’s arms and tried to pull him into a sitting position again. Peter tugged away in protest, but Tony gripped tighter, snapping, “What’s _wrong_? What the hell do you _think_ is wrong? Open your eyes, right _now_. Sit _up_.”

 

“Jesus, Tony,” Happy breathed, “The kid is barely there. Calm down.”

 

Tony ignored him as Peter continued to blink at him. Tony snatched up the bottle and shook it, seething through his teeth, “You took four of these. Do you know how _stupid_ that was?”

 

Peter croaked, his eyes shutting a moment, “Metabolism…It’s fast.”

 

The teen started to fall over and Tony reached out, grabbing him by his side. Peter hissed in pain, shoving at Tony’s hands to get them away. Tony paused before something flashed across his face and he grabbed the hem of Peter’s shirt, yanking it upward. The kid’s right side was bruised, his ribs discolored and a hint of some kind of flesh wound was apparent. That mixed with the head wound sent Tony into a state of surprise. What had the kid done?

 

“What happened?”

 

Peter hummed, rolling onto his side into the pillows. Tony was still trying to get him to roll over, but Peter was drugged, not listening, and a teenager. Which were three not very good concoctions. He heard Peter mumble something into the pillow, but Tony couldn’t understand. Roughly, he yanked at Peter’s wrist, snapping, “Look at me.”

 

His head turned just enough for him to say without the pillow impeding him, “I went to see N…Ned. But my webs broke and I fell in the s…street. That’s why I took the pills. FRIDAY says my emotion…al t…ter…turmoil was making it hard for me to heal.”

 

The words were thickly slurred. As if Peter had taken five shots of tequila on an empty stomach.

 

“Are you _stupid_?” Tony growled. “You could have hurt yourself taking that many. If your healing isn’t working properly, what makes you think your metabolism is?”

 

Tony was pulling angrily again, ordering, “Get up.”

 

Peter shut his eyes tightly and mumbled, “Spinning.”

 

Happy put a hand on Tony’s shoulder and intervened before Peter could get hurt, “Back off the kid for a minute, Tony. Let him gather his bearings.”

 

He whirled on Happy, ordering, “Go get an emergency kit so I can patch the damned gash on the kid’s head.”

 

Happy hesitated, causing Tony to tense. Did Happy really think he was going to hurt the kid? Sure, he was pissed and he could strangle Peter right now, but he never would… _hurt_ him. Eventually, Happy left the room, but only after Tony’s face had softened.

 

He turned back towards Peter, hooking his hands under the boy’s arms and then placing him against the headboard. Peter groaned in discomfort, eyes opening against the brightness of the sun. Tony explained lowly, “Idiotic. That was idiotic.”

 

Peter shook his head and whispered, “I’m…sorry.”

 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

 

A flash went off behind Peter’s eyes and suddenly he looked strangely alert. Still drugged, but he appeared…aware? Afraid. He looked terrified all of a suddenly and Tony wracked his brain as to why the change in demeanor would have happened. Peter gulped, shaking his head, “Please…Please don’t take it again.”

 

Oh…The Ferry Incident.

 

_“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”_

_“I’m gonna need the suit back.”_

_“Forever.”_

Tony shook his head, “Hush. I’m mad at you right now.”

 

Before Peter could say something in return, Happy entered the bedroom carrying the emergency kit. He tossed it towards Tony and before Tony even caught it, he ordered, “Call the tailor. Tell her to send over some suits and we’ll just use the one that fits best.”

 

Tony popped open the kit and Happy was gone again. Peter shifted, his head still lulling to the side, back and forth. He only flinched slightly when Tony applied the antiseptic and butterfly stitch. Maybe it was pointless. If Peter’s wound did end up healing. But at least it could speed up the process before the funeral.

 

Then Tony stood, grabbed the pills, and turned to leave.

 

He was stopped by Peter’s quiet voice…

 

“Please…Mr. Stark. Don’t take the suit.”

 

Tony turned. He wanted to scold the kid, but Peter was too out of it at the moment for it to do any good. Tony had the funeral to worry about, he couldn’t be playing good-cop/bad-cop with Peter. There was a lot to do. A lot to figure out in such a short amount of time. Tony pointed to the pillows and said, “Go back to sleep.”

 

Peter’s eyes were watering and Tony pretended not to see it as Peter whispered, “Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry.”

 

Shaking his head, the man responded, “Kid, I don’t think you need the suit right now. Not with everything that’s going on. Especially not if your healing is haywire. That doesn’t mean I hate you. I don’t hate you.”

 

The child’s eyes widened and he exclaimed, “You can’t! You can’t take that away, not on top of Aunt May!”

 

Tony dropped the first aid kit and pills when Peter started trying to get up. He moved forward, grabbing Peter by his wrists, attempting to shove him back into the mattress. On any normal day, there was no doubt in his mind that Peter would have been able to overpower him. Probably easily. But whatever was wrong with the kid’s powers made it incredibly simple for Tony to restrain him, despite the fact the Peter had begun to thrash.

 

“Stop, stop it,” Peter sobbed, and when Tony looked in Peter’s eyes, all he saw was confusion, hurt, and drugs. Did Peter really even know where he was? He had understood the conversation enough to know that his suit was going to be confiscated, but he also looked lost. Like he wasn’t even on earth anymore.

 

Peter’s wrists were restrained into the comforter, under Tony’s hands and he looked at Tony with betrayal shining. Still, despite the tears and Peter’s panic, the teen’s eyes fluttered closed.

 

Those pills were a hell of a sedative.

 

…

 

The day between the drugging incident and the funeral passed awkwardly.

 

Peter went from being in a drug-induced sleep, to trying on suits, to awkwardly having dinner with Tony all in the span of several hours. Then night came, he tried to sleep, and woke the day of the funeral. May’s funeral. Peter found himself vomiting that night, all due to anxiety, but he didn’t dare ask Tony for one of the pills. Not after what had happened. He never wanted to see the bottle again.

 

His forehead had healed at least.

 

Peter slept on the bathroom floor that night. Curled into a ball on the white tile, trying to stop the gripping anxiety. There were several moments, quiet ones, where his sobs would echo off the walls and then he felt nothing at all. May would disappear from his heart, then return full force. Remembering he would have to watch them bury her the next day.

 

Then it was the next day. All too quickly.

 

Peter’s trembling fingers attempted to tie his tie. They had to leave soon, within the next five minutes. The dress shoes were too tight on his toes, but they hadn’t had much time to put an outfit together that properly suited him. He felt the rest of it was tailored just fine, but he knew that it wasn’t up to Tony’s standard, just by the way he had been frustrated that they couldn’t go to the tailor the day before. Peter didn’t ask how much the suit cost.

 

He couldn’t tie the tie. Tony entered the room, saw the teen struggling, and did it himself. It was silent when they left the penthouse, and Peter was well aware that the events of yesterday hung in the air thickly. Their only real conversation had been the warning Tony had given him about the press that would more than likely be at the funeral.

 

And Tony had been right.

 

The moment they arrived at the giant church, the same giant church where Ben’s funeral had been held, they were met with flashing lights from cameras. There were police officers there though, holding back the hoard and keeping them out of the parking lot, so the reporters were forced to remain on the street.

 

Peter just wanted them to go away. He couldn’t stop shaking his leg until they had parked and Happy opened the door for them to get out. The clicking from the cameras in the distance was irritating, and he was so relieved they couldn’t get close enough to ask questions. They didn’t yell, or speak really. It was relatively silent besides the clicking.

 

The church was even quieter.

 

There was the low hum of voices. Tony’s hand on his shoulder kept him moving, until people started shaking Tony’s hand and Peter moved away. It was getting crowded in the foyer and as he moved through the doors into the aisle, he was met by Ned.

 

They stared at each other until suddenly, Ned hugged him. Peter returned the hug, but Ned’s hold was much tighter. Much fiercer. Peter whispered quietly, “Mr. Stark took my suit.”

 

He had only texted Ned that he had fallen, but not the repercussions of it. Ned pulled away, shock on his face as he replied just as hushed, “What? Just because you fell?”

 

“Well…There’s more,” Peter answered. However, he didn’t get the chance to finish before his eyes settled on what was in the very front of the church. Lying in an open casket, Peter could see the very top of Aunt May’s nose. People stood over her, a few of her friends, but Peter didn’t care to remember their names. They were crying. Holding tissues and each other.

 

Ned must have seen panic in his eyes, because he reassured hurriedly, “Peter, it’s going to be okay. You can do this.”

 

Peter shook his head, beginning to back up until he bumped into someone. He whirled around to see Tony looking down at him and maybe he knew…Maybe he could read Peter’s expression, because he took a tone very similar to Ned’s…

 

“It’s going to be quick.”

 

_“Like a band-aid.”_

Suddenly, Peter was grateful.

 

Happy tried to get him to go to the casket. To say good-bye or something, but Peter couldn’t and Tony got mad at Happy for suggesting it. They bickered briefly and Ned had to go sit with his mom and Peter had to sit in the front where family was supposed to go. It was just him and Tony.

 

There was something quietly murderous about that.

 

The service was a blur. There was music and the man in white robes spoke. Peter’s family was never really religious, but his parents’ funeral and Ben’s funeral had both been in a church, and since this was where Ben was buried, maybe Tony had assumed May should have her service here too. It was fine though. Peter wanted May buried next to Ben.

 

May believed in soul mates. Maybe that was why she never tried to date again.

 

The dove on the glass window was probably meant to represent the Holy Spirit, but Peter only saw his lonely aunt, left without her other half.

 

People were crying behind him, and Peter cried too, but he kept his head low and he bit back the sobs. Because he didn’t want them to see his shoulders tremble and Tony was gripping his wrist so tightly he thought it was going to break. But it kept him there, in that room. Not under rubble screaming for help. Peter bit his mouth. It bled and he swallowed the bitterness. Tears streaked his face silently and it never hurt so terribly to keep them in.

 

The flowers were all daisies. Aunt May had loved them. She had, had one tattooed on her foot. During one of her speeches about never getting drunk and going to a tattoo parlor at the age of eighteen, Peter and Ned had laughed until they cried. Then they promised never to get drunk and get tattoos at eighteen, even though later they talked about how cool she must have been.

 

People shook his hand. Said they were sorry. They followed the casket out into the graveyard.

 

He could hear the cameras clicking. Thunder was rolling.

 

The priest handed Peter a daisy, which he promptly placed upon the casket.

 

Then everyone left. Everyone except Ned, because Tony had to go say goodbye to the guests. _He_ was the host after all, and Peter didn’t think he could speak. Peter and Ned stood above the casket until the rain began to pour on their heads and soaked them to the bone. Ned left when his mother called him from the parking lot. He hugged Peter one last time, then trotted off.

 

Peter’s body wanted to collapse.

 

He was trembling in the cold rain, aching. His soul was tattered and no more tears would come, even though he knew it would be much better if they did. He would be much more relieved, like when he had sobbed into Ned’s shoulder.

 

But nothing came. Nothing except the rain.

 

Peter heard the sloshing of someone approaching, but only looked up when an umbrella was held over his head. He glanced, seeing Tony staring at him with an unreadable, silent expression. People had come to fill the grave, but it was wrong to do it while family was still present.

 

Finally, Peter managed to croak out a sentence…

 

“It rained at Uncle Ben’s funeral too.”

 

His eyes flitted to his uncle’s grave, where the grass had long grown over the dirt. Together forever. At peace.

 

Peter gulped and looked over at Tony, asking, “Do you believe in Heaven?”

 

Tony stared at him a long time and Peter supposed the answer was no. Because it took too long to reply…Maybe not a hard no, but definitely not a yes. Tony was grinding his teeth as he answered with a question of his own, “Do you?”

 

Peter’s eyes returned to the graves…

 

And he nodded.

 

…

 

That was letting go. Being forced to let go. Torn away from his aunt, forever and ever. Because she was gone. In the ground, and Tony had eventually made him leave, because the shivering was too much. Peter’s skin was too pale. And the rain was soaking too deep.

 

That sunk in. So, did the panic.

 

They were so close to being home. But, not home because the penthouse wasn’t the apartment he had shared with May. It was nothing. Nonetheless they had been close to safety. Peter was sitting in the back seat, staring out the window as the rain slid down the glass. Tony was beside him, maybe staring, but Peter didn’t know.

 

Happy said nothing.

 

It was so _random_. Stupid. A man being splashed by water on the street when a car had driven by had set Peter off. It had sent him into the…frenzy. Strings around his ankles. Dragging him into the depths of the water. Soaked to the bone and that’s when Peter could feel it. Death. Sinking its claws in.

 

It was so _random_. Stupid.

 

Peter tried to remember his breathing. He grabbed the tie around his neck, beginning to pull it off, and suddenly Tony’s hand was there. Grabbing him and speaking to him. But Peter couldn’t hear. His heart was going at a million-miles-per-hour. There was no more air in his lungs. He was gasping, but how?

 

Where was all the air going?

 

Tony looked so freaked out.

 

“Peter, look at me,” Tony ordered, but Peter tugged away, “You have to _breathe_. Remember where you are.”

 

Peter knew where he was. He knew, logically, he wasn’t being pulled into the water. He knew, _logically_ , he wasn’t going to die. But it sure felt like he was.

 

The tie ripped off and Tony was grabbing his face, too hard, making him to look in the eyes of the man that was forcing him to be adopted. Peter was crying, sobbing, and gasping as he desperately tried to get the door open. Was he going to run out into the street? Jump out of a moving vehicle? He had no idea. No plan. Just survival.

 

“Happy I swear to God if you let these doors unlock, I’ll kick your ass!”

 

Peter tried to turn his head away, but Tony still wouldn’t release his face and it was a bruising grip. He was twisting and turning to get away, clawing at the manual lock. They were speeding up. Driving fast and Peter didn’t care. He didn’t care if he fell out of the car and was stuck under the wheels. He didn’t care if he died, because it was better than this feeling of drowning.

 

“Don’t _say_ that, kid.”

 

Oh shit, had he said that out loud?

 

Peter’s chest rattled. Tony reached behind his head and snapped, “Look at me. Breathe with me. Come on.”

 

Tony removed the other grip from Peter’s face and grabbed Peter’s hand and pressed it to his chest, beginning to take deep breaths in a sort of example. Peter tried, he really did, to copy.

 

But the sobs were wracking him so hard and it wasn’t working and nothing was working. Nothing was the same and it was all broken. Nothing would ever be okay again, because Aunt May was dead. She was _dead_ and Peter was being dragged under, and the worst part was he didn’t care. He didn’t care, but the survival instincts were keeping him alive and he should drown for not saving her. For not protecting her. For failing.

 

Peter grabbed Tony’s sleeve and cried, “Please, Mr. Stark. Make it stop. Make it stop hurting.”

 

“Kid…” Tony sighed. He still looked so shaken.

 

Peter grabbed at his own chest and tears continued to fall, “I’m d-dying. It hurts so much. I don’t...know-w how to d-do _this_. I’m dying…It hurts, Mr. Stark, please _help me_.”

 

This was the explosion. The bomb that had been building since that night in the hospital. Since Doctor Windsor had told him his aunt was dead and gone. The physical ache in his chest was tangible. Like someone was doing heart surgery with no anesthesia.

 

Then, suddenly, Mr. Stark was wrapping him in a tight embrace.

 

It wasn’t like Ned or Aunt May. Not like Uncle Ben. Not like anyone’s. Because this, _this_ was too tight and too desperate. A way to control and ground and _force_ back into reality. Peter didn’t struggle. This was not affection, this was a last resort. Peter trembled slightly, his face buried in Tony’s chest as the man gripped the back of his neck and around his middle.

 

Peter gasped one…two…three times.

 

Then Peter hugged Tony back, _desperately_.

 

He hiccupped. Sobbed.

 

And emptied.


	5. The Concept of Angry Non-Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned fell to his knees beside the tub and shouted, “What happened!?”
> 
> “I got shot,” Peter said through gritted teeth, ripping the fabric of the onesie high up his thigh, exposing the wound that was several inches above the knee. Yep. Full on bullet wound. Definitely not a graze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you guys. I'm posting this early before I go to work today. Please enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think. This chapter is a doozy. Peter just seems to attract trouble. Thank you all for reading, I love you guys!

Two weeks.

 

It had been two weeks since they buried May. Peter could barely believe it. Days had slipped by relatively silent after his meltdown in the car. He wandered around the penthouse a lot like a ghost. Sleeping was hard. Nightmares reared their heads. But being awake was no easier and sometimes he spent the entire day watching the people move about from his window. He moved when Tony told him. Moved when he was told to eat or had to go somewhere.

 

He ate a lot of Thai take-out. Pepper had told Tony that Peter liked Thai and when Tony wasn’t busy he made a point to sit with Peter in the dim bedroom and eat with the teen. Peter appreciated that.

 

It was a lot fancier than the Thai he and Aunt May had eaten though.

 

Sometimes, he got restless and he would wander. When Tony had stepped out on the second Tuesday, Peter had gone into the workshop without asking. Mark-Something caught fire because well, Peter had screwed with him. But Tony hadn’t been mad. He had looked more freaked out than anything. Tony wasn’t used to sharing his space with someone who touched things, because Pepper didn’t go near the machines, she had no interest.

 

Tony had been really lenient. Or maybe he just didn’t notice Peter because he was so busy.

 

But today, hadn’t been a day he went by unnoticed. With his backpack shoved at his feet in the car and Tony sitting next to him, Peter found himself returning to school…He had managed to pull himself out of bed at seven in the morning, put on his clothes, and glue himself together enough to be acceptable out in public.

 

Happy was humming something to the radio and Tony’s sunglasses were much too dark for it to be so early. Peter rung his hands anxiously, staring out the window and chewing his lower lip as he watched the buildings fly past them. Happy didn’t play well with morning traffic and Peter felt nauseated.

 

He pretended it wasn’t because the last time they had all been in a car together, he had lost his little mind.

 

“You don’t have to go back today,” Tony’s voice suddenly yanked Peter from his thoughts. His head turned in Tony’s direction to find the man was looking at him through his sunglasses. Peter swallowed thickly and Tony went on, “I’m serious. You don’t. I’m not going to make you.”

 

Peter shook his head, “I need to, Mr. Stark. I’m falling really far behind.”

 

And he had. Sure, they had sent him little assignments to work on in the penthouse, but the bulk of it was still not finished. He had tests to make up, quizzes to take, things to just overall learn and two weeks would have to be enough to staple himself back together and be able to sit in a desk for eight hours again.

 

He still hadn’t gotten his suit back. Which was rough. There was no outlet. No way to destress. He missed the cold wind as he swung through the air at night.

 

He missed Karen too of course.

 

Peter shifted, questioning, “When can I get my suit back?”

 

Tony pursed his lips. Then he sighed, “We’ll talk about that another time. Today is about school.”

 

Peter glared. Tony hadn’t even _wanted_ today to be about school.

 

When they pulled into the Midtown High’s parking lot, Peter was slightly relieved that school had started about twenty-minutes prior. That meant he wouldn’t have to parade Tony down the hallway and be crushed under the gazes of his peers. Ned had already told him that he was the talk of the school. It wasn’t every day that a kid from Queens got adopted by a billionaire, even if the adoption hadn’t become official yet.

 

They parked and Happy stayed in the car. Peter only hesitated half a moment before getting out, considered telling Tony never mind, that he wanted to go back to the penthouse.

 

But he didn’t. He pushed.

 

They stepped out into the crisp morning air and maybe Tony was right to wear the dark sunglasses, because the light was brimming between buildings and blinding Peter. He shivered slightly, his sweater doing little to protect him. Tony tsked, “Told you to grab a jacket.”

 

Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder and replied, “I did, but then I forgot my phone and I set down my jacket to go get it.”

 

“And you forgot your jacket,” Tony concluded.

 

Peter nodded, taking the steps one at a time. Used to, it was always two at a time. Tony had old man knees anyway, he didn’t need to run ahead.

 

Peter reached out to grab the door in order to enter the school, however it yanked open suddenly, much to his surprise. Principal Davis greeted him with a smile. Strained. Peter jumped back, nearly bumping into Tony and sending them both down the front steps of the school, until Tony managed to stabilize them both.

 

Principal Davis’ eyes skimmed right over Peter and to Tony.

 

Of course.

 

He greeted Tony stiffly, the way most people greeted Mr. Stark. Trying to be impressive and use big words. Peter expected Tony to act extremely bored, but to the man’s credit, he managed to sound interested in what Principal Davis was saying.

 

As they entered Principal Davis’ office, Principal Davis practically gushed, “I’m so glad you’ve decided to keep Peter at Midtown, Mr. Stark. I know it must be a long drive with the traffic, but I really do believe we offer the best curriculum for a child with Peter’s talents.”

 

In other words…

 

_“Having the adopted child of Tony Stark is probably going to result is some hefty donations.”_

Peter sunk into his chair at the thought. He didn’t want to be like Flash. He didn’t want to be treated differently.

 

“Yes well…” Tony began, flashing his usual ‘dazzling’ smile, “Peter seemed really adamant about staying. Plus, I think he found the lack of a uniform more appealing than some of the schools that were closer.”

 

Peter said nothing as the two chatted. Instead he stared out the window behind Principal Davis’ head. Weariness was playing a heavy role today. Weary about being back. About having to actually do assignments and sit still. Just being exhausted in general, even if he hadn’t had to do anything in the past two weeks since the funeral.

 

He snapped back to reality when Principal Davis addressed him directly, “Peter, I just want you to know that all of us here at Midtown are aware of your situation and your teachers are willing to work closely with you. We’ve set you up an hour after school each day to do makeup tests and such until we can get you caught back up, alright?”

 

Peter swallowed. Nodded. Forced a small smile.

 

“Thank you, Principal Davis.”

 

Then, without much more, he was sent on his way.

 

Peter found himself in the hallway alone with Tony; Principal Davis was left behind in the office. Peter turned slowly to face the man and Tony was hesitating about something. About leaving. He had removed his sunglasses and he was peering down at Peter with eyes that held…concern? Not normal worry. Not the worry of him going on patrol or something. This worry was different.

 

“I’ll be okay,” Peter whispered.

 

Tony cleared his throat, “Yeah, I know kid.”

 

But he didn’t. Peter could tell. Tony’s eyes had been tinged with fear since the car. Since Peter had cried and begged for some kind of mercy against the pain. Peter didn’t remember a lot of it, but he remembered enough to be mortified by his actions. He remembered enough to know why Tony was acting so strangely.

 

Tony patted his shoulder, reminding, “Don’t forget about your after-school catch-up…thing. And that tonight Ms. Orville wants to see us for dinner.”

 

Peter nodded. Tony hesitated one more time before turning and walking down the hallway. Peter watched him until he exited the double doors and the teen sighed, glancing up at the ceiling, praying that the day wouldn’t be as awful as he dreaded it would be.

 

First period was still in session, so Peter headed to Spanish. That was a piece of normalcy he missed, even if it was his worst subject. He headed down the language hall, avoiding being seen by any of the other classes until he stopped in front of his own.

 

Señora Garcia’s head popped up from the white-board where she was spelling out a word for the class. Peter paused when everyone’s eyes turned to meet him, their expressions…strange. Señora Garcia smiled softly, and spoke, “Hola, Peter. So good to see you. You can take your regular seat.”

 

Peter said nothing in response, but instead put all of his effort into ignoring the eyes trained on him as he rushed to sit down in his desk beside Ned. At least that was the same. His seat near the back of the room. Ned grinned at him, and Peter forced himself to return the smile softly because Ned would probably be the only good thing about the day.

 

Soon, the bell rung. Everyone filed out, and Peter stayed close to Ned’s side as they moved down the hallway. Everyone knew. They had to. He hadn’t ever attracted this much attention, even after Uncle Ben had died. People had looked at him with pity, sure, but this fascination was due to Tony Stark.

 

Even Flash said nothing to him when he walked by. Maybe he was pissed that Peter’s internship obviously hadn’t been a lie. Or maybe Flash really did have a soul and was merciful enough not to poke fun at a kid whose aunt had just been run over.

 

The day slipped by without many words, other than Ned asking him if he wanted to come over after school because his mother was on a business trip and he had rented that old ‘ _Alien’_ movie. Peter declined. Not with the after-school thing and the dinner with Ms. Orville. He felt tired anyway and as much fun as a movie with Ned sounded, a part of him was guilty for thinking anything was fun while his aunt hadn’t even been dead a month.

 

He tried to keep inside his own head, but also pay attention in class. His leg bounced and his fingers tapped with each passing hour. Teachers gave him sorry glances. Some even talked to him about their own loss, but he didn’t want pity. He wanted to be normal and to stop hurting. But he also knew this was the punishment one received when not saving the person they love. The same punishment had come after Uncle Ben had died. Aunt May would be no different, if not worse.

 

When the final bell of the day rang, no relief flooded him, because he knew he would have to start playing catch up. A tutor met with him, they worked on algebra mostly, and Spanish because those were the two subjects that moved the quickest and missing even one class could be detrimental, let alone two weeks. The woman was nice, had even brought him some Starbursts to eat while they worked. She said she understood Peter’s pain, her mother had died when she was fifteen as well. But candy was a good outlet. Especially the pink Starbursts.

 

Peter didn’t really feel better after talking to her. Maybe she did understand, but she hadn’t killed her mother. And deep-down Peter knew he hadn’t killed May. But it was too deep to be seen. Six-feet under with May and Ben’s caskets.

 

He was okay until he saw a newspaper upon exiting school.

 

It was just lying there, in the courtyard. Maybe it had been blown out of a trash can. Maybe someone had dropped it. But Peter couldn’t help but feel personally victimized by it when he saw his own face on the cover…A yearbook picture, and he wondered silently how the press had gotten it. Directly beside a picture of Tony Stark.

 

**_Stark Takes in Orphaned Teenager from Queens_ **

****

That’s what Peter had been reduced to. He had no name. Just a face in the newspaper. Before…everything, it would have been a dream to have his name published next to Mr. Stark’s. But, this…this was a nightmare and it was wrong. Peter didn’t touch the newspaper, for fear it would burn him. It was acidic.

 

Peter didn’t know when he started running, but he did.

 

He ran until his legs burned and begged for him to stop. Even being Spider-Man, exhaustion was still an issue, but he didn’t pause, didn’t breathe, until he found himself fiddling with the doorknob of his and May’s apartment. Had he run all the way there?

 

Peter didn’t know. It was almost as if he had blacked out. Left his body. Like he was still standing in the court yard at school, empty. He shoved the door open, nearly falling because he forgot, _forgot_ to open it the special way. His chest was heaving and tears were streaming his cheeks as he walked in, slamming the door behind him.

 

He threw his backpack to the ground, hands shaking, shoulders trembling as he moved down the hallway and pushed open Aunt May’s door.

 

After Uncle Ben had died, Aunt May had spent so many days curled in her bed. Peter still remembered the night he heard her crying and had come in and held her. He was fourteen at the time, and it was hard to believe that was over a year ago. Fourteen and unsure of how to comfort his aunt who had lost the man she loved. Despite all of her attempts to say she was fine, she could only hold it together so long.

 

They ate so much sushi that night he threw up.

 

Peter climbed into the unmade bed. The bed that would probably never be made again until another family moved in. Peter wondered what Tony would do with the apartment as he curled into himself on his side, pulling on of the pillows close. It smelled like when she had hugged him the night after Tony took his suit away.

 

Should he be ashamed? Crying and losing his mind.

 

Maybe, but he didn’t know what else to do. There was no one left to hold him, everyone he loved was in the ground and Tony didn’t know what to do with him. Tony hugged for control of a situation.  

 

Peter drifted, sleep taking hold.

 

…

 

“I’m pretty sure Steve is somewhere in America.”

 

Pepper looked up from her desk at Tony who was sitting across the room in the woman’s office. Her eyes narrowed on him and Tony didn’t even feel angry, because he was just happy she was done with business in California. He sat with his phone in his hands, his feet propped on the coffee table while Pepper had been writing out a list of priorities for the Board.

 

Pepper removed her reading glasses and said, “I thought you were letting Ross handle that.”

 

“I am,” Tony spoke matter-of-factly, “But, doesn’t mean I can’t use some deduction skills of my own. Plus, the guy keeps sending super-secret-coded messages trying to convince me that I made a mistake with the Accords.”

 

Pepper’s eyes widened, “Have you been speaking to him?”

 

Tony scoffed, “I’m not stupid enough to cross that line, especially with Ross still pissed about the whole Raft incident, even if he can’t prove it was me. He knows and I know he knows. It’s a silent, mutual ignorance that we both hold.”

 

The woman bit her lip, “So you’ve been ignoring him then? Steve, I mean.”

 

He nodded, “Yes. Trust me, I’d love to chew the guy out. Let him know what a piece of shit he is and demand Barnes’ location, but at this point, I think it would be counter-productive.”

 

“Good,” Pepper approved, “That’s very mature of you. Especially with everything going on right now.”

 

Tony’s brows furrowed and Pepper snapped, “The _adoption_ , Tony. Ross is the Secretary for Christ’s sake, making him angry while trying to get custody of Peter isn’t the wisest move, you know?”

 

Tony groaned, standing suddenly and moving towards the small mini-bar. Pepper crossed her arms in a disapproving manner and Tony paused, thinking better of making himself a drink. He turned in the opposite direction, huffing, “Buzz kill.”

 

“Realist,” Pepper corrected. She then looked at her watch and hummed, “Honestly, I think Social Services prefers their prospective parents sober.”

 

Tony pointed a finger at her, “Don’t say that.”

 

She looked confused and Tony elaborated, “Prospective parents. That’s not what this is.”

 

Scoffing, Pepper nodded, “Oh right, I forgot. This is a guilt thing.”

 

When Tony whirled, she interrupted, “I admit, I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize, but it’s partially true. You’re doing all of this because of a conversation with May Parker. A conversation, might I add, that you dragged me to because she scared you to death. We both reassured her that Peter would be in good hands, but we didn’t know she’d be dead in the next few months.”

 

“It’s not just about that, Pepper,” Tony looked hurt, “The kid needs some kind of security. His life is a shit-show and he…”

 

Tony bit the inside of his mouth before continuing, “He _looks_ at me like I’m going to fix this. Like I can bring her back, but I can’t. So, I’m going to do what I can to make this easier, and letting the kid go into foster care is _not_ the better option and that’s not me being egotistical, that’s the _truth_. I suck, alright, I know that. I’m probably even worse than Howard was, but what else is there to do without abandoning him?”

 

Pepper’s eyes softened and she whispered, “You’re not Howard, Tony.”

 

He paused, considering her for a long moment. Licking his lips, God his mouth was dry, begging for a drink from the bar…Blinking rapidly, Tony muttered, “When the kid took those pills, I was pissed, Pepper. And he didn’t even mean to…Technically speaking it was FRIDAY’s fault for telling him that the pills would help his healing go back to normal. I was so angry and for a few minutes Happy looked worried that I was going to hurt the kid.”

 

Pepper leaned forward in her chair, listening intently as he went on, “I _wanted_ to hurt him, and that’s so screwed up. Howard wouldn’t have hesitated, he would have flattened me out right then and there, doped up or not. I called Peter stupid over and over again. Maybe he doesn’t remember half of it, but I do. It was like the Ferry Boat Thing. A-and I was so caught up in my own anger I didn’t even see the kid crumbling right in front of me…Didn’t even expect for him to have that panic attack in the backseat of the car…”

 

Tony barked out an unamused laugh, “It’s like a piece of Howard is living inside me.”

 

“Tony…” Pepper stood from her chair and crossed the room, closing the distance between them. She looked up into his face, searching, but his eyes looked dim. She sighed, “You _didn’t_ hurt Peter. That’s why you’re _not_ Howard. That’s why you will never _be_ Howard.”

 

Tony placed his forehead against hers.

 

…

 

Peter woke to his phone buzzing incessantly.

 

He would have been panicked if not for the distraction. The sun was going down, and he knew he had dinner in two hours with Tony and Ms. Orville. However, the light was sinking and his aunt’s bed was not where he expected to be. Peter gripped his phone, staring at the alert that flashed across the screen.

 

_HOSTAGE CRISIS LOCATED AT QUEEN’S SECURITY VAULT. ALL UNITS RESPOND._

Peter had hacked into the police dispatch a month before after May had found out and he couldn’t spend as much time patrolling. It made it easier for him to get the location of the emergency and Peter blinked blearily as he read the message over and over again. Hostage crisis. People were going to get hurt.

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He didn’t have his suit.

 

Peter groaned in annoyance. Slowly, he slid from the bed, a deep seeded guilt pooling in his belly. He could do nothing. Nothing but stare at his phone and wish that Tony would give him back the suit. Two weeks. Ridiculous. Just for falling.

 

Well, not just for falling. Apparently, his healing was screwed up. But in any case, it wasn’t fair. Even if it was technically Tony’s suit, _it wasn’t fair_.

 

He cringed at how bratty he sounded.

 

Peter flinched when another alert popped up…

 

_SECURITY GUARD DOWN. REPEAT: SECURITY GUARD DOWN. GUNSHOT WOUND TO THE CHEST._

Peter breathed…

 

Damn it.

 

He jumped from the bed, rushing to his bedroom and he began to dig through his closet hurriedly, yanking out his old ‘onesie’ and web shooters. Peter changed, ignoring the burns in the fabric from the fight Vulture. He had tried to wash it, held onto it for nostalgic reasons. But, there was a certain amount of blood and grime a washing machine simply could not repair.

 

Peter pulled the goggles over his head and slipped the webshooters on.

 

Glanced at the clock.

 

Yeah…Two hours should be enough time.

 

Peter climbed out the window and into the night air. The onesie didn’t do nearly enough to protect him from the cold, not like his real suit. The webshooters were outdated and flimsy and his goggles didn’t compare to his Spider-Man mask. But it would have to do. Peter swung towards the Queens Security Vaults, a sense of relief flooding him, despite the anxiety of the situation. It was nice to be out again. To feel himself swing across the sky.

 

By the time Peter landed on the ceiling, the sun had sunk behind the horizon and the street lamps were his only source of light. He crawled silently towards the skylight, peering down into the main foyer of the building. He was able to make out six figures. Two were kneeling, their hands behind their heads, one was lying on the ground in a pool of blood (Peter supposed he was the injured security guard), and three were holding guns in their hands.

 

One was trying desperately to enter the vault behind him and Peter almost couldn’t ignore the sound of the sirens and flashing lights crawling up the side of the building from the police presence out front. Carefully, he lifted the latch, praying to God his powers didn’t act up as he crawled into the building, sticking to the ceiling. Silently, he closed the window once more, hoping they hadn’t noticed the change in the sirens’ pitch.

 

“This is ridiculous!” The man trying to open the vault shouted. He turned towards the two men pointing their guns at the hostages kneeling. Both women were sobbing quietly, but the men were ignoring them in favor of turning their attention to their third partner.

 

He continued angrily, “The code boss gave us isn’t working.”

 

“Maybe they moved the drug to Barren Mills,” One of the other men commented.

 

The third growled, “What? You think Boss set us up?”

 

By the vault, the man huffed, “I don’t think it was intentional. I think he knew we’d get caught though and moved it prior. Didn’t have the damn decency to _warn_ us…Of all the bullshit jobs I’ve ever done, this one tops the list.”

 

His eyes moved to one of the women before he snapped, “Come open the vault.”

 

The woman’s head snapped up and Peter felt his chest clench as the gun was pressed closer to her head. Peter bit down on his lip as she whimpered, “I…I just answer the phones…I don’t know the code.”

 

“Get up!” The man holding the gun to her head shouted suddenly, causing his voice to echo through the marble room. She screamed as she was shoved forward onto her hands and knees. She tried to stand, but her body was shaking so much, she fell back to the floor. The other woman wasn’t much help better, burying her face in her hands hysterically. Peter’s fingers were itching to intervene and he kept looking among the three gunmen, terror and bile rising in his throat from his upside-down place.

 

He continued to scream at her, only making her cry louder and flatten on the floor.

 

_Blood. Uncle Ben’s chest. Blood. Blood. Blood._

Peter shook his head, trying to chase the memory away…

 

_“I’m okay, Pete. I’m okay. Don’t cry, buddy. I’m gonna be f-fine.”_

The man on the floor was gushing blood from his chest.

 

The woman was begging. Sobbing.

 

Peter intervened.

 

He shot out both hands simultaneously snatching the guns of the two men beside the hostages. His body dropped down, landing a bit ungracefully as he threw the weapons across the room and kicked one of the men in the face and threw his body into the other guy, sending them both into a heap on the floor. His heart was racing in his ears as he saw the bloody guard again. He kept flashing back to that street corner. _He kept flashing back_ to that night and his gut was twisting, doing flips.

 

Uncle Ben’s bloody hand had touched his face.

 

Had tried to comfort him.

 

_“Look…Look at me…kiddo…”_

_“Don’t be scared, Peter.”_

Peter’s eyes burned under the goggles, only to be pulled out when movement caught his eye. The man in front of the vault lifted his gun, pointing it at Peter and the two employees. Peter stepped in front of them without hesitation, unafraid as he too lifted his hand to use his webs to take the gun.

 

It fired too quick.

 

Just as Peter’s web made contact, a searing pain shot through and up Peter’s thigh. He screamed, but still managed to yank the weapon away, just as the police entered the building in response to the gunfire. Peter felt warmth begin to flow, like his body was emptying out onto the marble floor. He felt nausea creep up his throat and he threw the gun aside, shooting his webbing up at the ceiling to escape the police who had turned their sights on him as well.

 

He crawled through the window he came in, gasping in agony. It felt like his leg was on fire, and sure he had been grazed by bullets, but never had one entered so completely before. Stumbling, Peter gripped the side of the roof, fighting the urge to vomit over the edge. He couldn’t look at the damage, not yet. He had to get somewhere safe. Somewhere away from the police.

 

Peter couldn’t go to Mr. Stark. Jesus, the man would never give his suit back then. He had to figure something else out, but Peter had no idea how to treat a gunshot wound. Had he really been shot? Shock was still rearing its head and Peter managed to raise his shaking arms and shoot a web, sending him swinging from his location, blood pooling through the fabric of his clothes.

 

Then he recalled Ned’s words from earlier that day at school…

 

_“Mom is out of town. You should come over! I rented that old ‘Alien’ movie.”_

Traumatize his best friend with a bullet wound or risk Tony taking his suit forever?

 

_Sorry Ned._

Peter made a beeline for Ned’s apartment, almost losing his grip several times due to dizziness. When he finally landed on the fire escape, it creaked under his harsh landing. Peter knocked on the window maniacally until Ned appeared in the doorway, face confused as he ran and slid the window open, much like the night Peter came over to cry.

 

“Dude! What’s up!” Ned smiled.

 

Peter pushed him back and practically rolled into the room over the window seat and onto the floor. Blood spilled out from the hole in his leg and began to stain the cherry-wood. Ned let out a strangled sound at the sight and he shouted, “Oh my God, what the hell!?”

 

“Shhhh!” Peter ordered. The last thing they needed was for a neighbor to hear them and think someone was dying, which the more blood Peter lost, the more of a possibility that seemed to be. Peter put a hand over his leg to try to stop the bleeding. He stood, rushing out of the room, hearing Ned clang behind him, as Peter left a trail of blood, thankful for the lack of carpet.

 

Peter fell into the bathtub so forcefully that the curtain was yanked down. Ned rushed in after him, as Peter was flailing to get the plastic from over his head and he yanked his goggles off in the process. Ned was standing there, his face flushed and looking sick.

 

The adrenaline was wearing off, Peter could tell, because the run from the window to the bathroom had taken just about everything he had in him. He turned, the blood flowing freely and clashing against the white tub brightly.

 

Ned fell to his knees beside the tub and shouted, “What happened!?”

 

“I got shot,” Peter said through gritted teeth, ripping the fabric of the onesie high up his thigh, exposing the wound that was several inches above the knee. Yep. Full on bullet wound. Definitely not a graze.

 

Ned almost fainted.

 

Peter grabbed him, feeling guilty when his blood covered hands began to stain Ned’s shirt. He ordered shakily, “Get the first aid kit…a-and your mom’s sewing kit.”

 

“Oh my _God_!” Ned exclaimed, “No, no, hell no! We’re not sewing you up in my bathtub, we need to call Mr. Stark!”

 

Peter’s face paled even more, “No! I’ll get into trouble!”

 

“You’re already in trouble!”

 

“Yeah, but it’ll be more trouble!”

 

“You’re bleeding out!”

 

“Not that much!”

 

Ned looked shocked, “Not that…much? Are you insane!? Oh my God, oh my God…”

 

Despite his protests, Ned clambered to his feet and rushed out of the bathroom. Peter held his hands over the bleeding limb until his friend returned with a basket of sewing supplies and an emergency kit. Ned handed him the rubbing alcohol and Peter took a deep breath, looking down at the injury. He unscrewed the cap, biting down on his sleeve, before he poured it directly over the wound.

 

Peter screamed past where he was biting down, dropping the bottle into the tub, causing Ned to quickly fish it out. Tears poured down his face as Ned gagged silently next to him and Peter sobbed, “Stop, stop gagging or I’m going to gag!”

 

“It’s so gross!” Ned had tears now too as he tried to thread the needle. He was shaking too much, but when Peter tried to snatch the needle and thread away, Ned yanked it back and shouted, “Listen, I’m doing my best! This is a really stressful situation, so give me a minute here!”

 

Peter replied, “You’re taking too long! I’m gonna pass out!”

 

“No, I’m gonna pass out! We can’t both pass out!” Ned retorted, finally managing to thread the needle.

 

Peter grabbed it from him, hesitating as he looked down at the bleeding wound where he had shoved several gauze. Peter removed them, shyly poking the skin with the needle. He looked at Ned who suggested, “Maybe you should drink some of my mom’s wine.”

 

“No, it’ll take too long,” Peter snapped, forcing himself to insert the needle. He hissed as he pulled the skin together, another wave of nausea hitting as spots formed in his vision.

 

Ned threw up in the toilet next to them.

 

“Dude!” Peter’s tears were freely flowing, “Come on! I’m the one with a hole in my leg!”

 

Peter managed to do it twice when his phone suddenly came to life.

 

His eyes widened. Peter dug through his pocket, pulling out his cellphone, blood beginning to smear the screen. Tony’s name flashed and Peter looked at Ned. Peter ordered, “Keep stitching me and don’t say a word.”

 

Ned shook his head, but the thread and needle were shoved at him anyway. Ned took a deep breath, leaning over the tub to begin to stitch just as Peter pressed the green button and answered the phone with the most casual “Hello” he could muster.

 

_“Kid,”_ Oh no, he was mad, _“You realize we have dinner with the mean social worker in twenty-minutes, right? Where the hell are you?”_

“Y-yeah…” Peter gritted his teeth as the needle dug into his skin, “We’re going to need to reschedule that.”

 

There was a pause, then _, “_ I’m _going to need more_ information _than that.”_

Peter laughed anxiously, the skin was pulling together again and more tears started to form. Peter coughed, “I-I’m working…at the library…catching up and all that. I think it’s going to be a l-late night and I…Yeah.”

 

His voice quivered at the last word, despite himself. Ned was moving painstakingly slow.

 

_“Why are you crying?”_

“I’m not!” Peter’s voice cracked.

 

He then blinked and lowered his voice dramatically, “I mean. I’m not.”

 

_“Kid, tell me what’s happening right now, or I’m going to track your phone.”_

“Isn’t that like, an invasion of privacy and stuff,” Peter tried again to force a laugh, “I mean, it’s weird to track a fifteen-year-old’s phone and I-I don’t want people to think you’re weird, Mr. Stark-“

 

Peter was cut off when the needle went much deeper than it should have.

 

“Gah!”

 

Peter covered his mouth and bit down on his fingers as Ned exclaimed, “Dude, I’m sorry! I can’t see past the blood anymore!”

 

_“Blood?”_

Tony’s voice sounded deadly. Peter shot Ned an even deadlier look.

 

_“Where are you? Tell me where you are.”_

“Mr…Mr. Stark, it’s not that bad,” Peter insisted, “R-Really, you don’t need to bother, we’ve got it under control.”

 

_“Peter!”_

Peter flinched at the use of his name.

 

That was a first.

 

Peter felt a terrified knot form in his throat…

 

He hung up the phone.

 

“We gotta hurry,” Peter insisted, taking the thread and needle, beginning to stitch it himself, groaning each time the needle went too deep. Ned watched on in horror.

 

“He’s going to find us,” Ned said several minutes later, “Dude, he’s Iron Man. He’s probably already halfway here-“

 

“Shhhh!” Peter was fighting sobs…

 

Ned grabbed his wrist and stopped him, “You’re hurting yourself more!”

 

“Ugh!” Peter threw down the needle in frustration before tearing it from the thread. He held out his hands and ordered, “Help me up, hurry. I gotta go before he gets here. I’ll hide somewhere until I heal and then-“

 

“And then what?” Ned questioned, “You’ll only be in more trouble if you hide and you’re _bleeding_ , Peter. We can’t fix this, we’re only fifteen.”

 

Peter was so sick of hearing that.

 

Suddenly, Peter heard the front door open.

 

And the unmistakable sound of the Iron Man suit opening.

 

Of course, he would fly here. Of course, he would be _that_ extra just so he could beat traffic.

 

“Oh shit,” Peter whispered. He shoved Ned towards the door and ordered, “Lock it, lock it.”

 

Ned crawled towards the door on his hands and knees and just as he was about to close the door, a figure appeared at the end of the hall. Ned screamed and Peter used the shower curtain to hide the bloody mess over him and over the tub. Tony began to stomp towards them, purpose in each step and Ned only got the door a quarter of the way shut before Tony flung it open.

 

He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Vomit in the toilet. Ned on the floor. A pale looking Peter in the bathtub, covered by a shower curtain.

 

The smell of bile and copper was thick in the air.

 

Blood covered the tile.

 

Peter’s stomach dropped and Tony walked directly towards him, grabbing the curtain and he yanked it away to reveal the mess. It was jarring, but Tony didn’t show it. That was possibly the most terrifying thing for Peter. The look on his face didn’t show what he was feeling. Peter didn’t know if he was going to scream, lash out, leave.

 

Tony asked icily…

 

“What. Happened?”

 

Peter’s voice was small…like a five-year-old…blood smeared across his pale cheek…

 

“I got shot.”

 

Peter flinched when Tony suddenly stripped off his jacket and began to tie it around Peter’s thigh. The man didn’t look at him as he pulled out his cellphone and dialed a number Peter didn’t recognize. After a few moments, Tony ordered, “Rhodey, get to my place. Bring a med-kit.”

 

He hung up.

 

Then Peter was being lugged out of the tub. He tried his best to clean his tear stained face, because Tony was staring at him now and he didn’t want him to know he had been crying. But he knew. He could see. Ned assisted in lifting Peter and the teen could feel more blood flowing because of the movement.

 

The shitty stitches tore suddenly and Peter nearly collapsed at the white-pain. Tony and Ned held him up though and no amount of fighting could stop Peter from crying out. He looked at Tony, desperation in his eyes.

 

And Peter realized he was still a child. Because he cried from the agonizing pain and looked at Tony, _wanting_ him to fix it.

 

…

 

Within the next hour, Peter was sitting silently on the counter in the bathroom with James Rhodes stitching up in thigh. Despite not being a doctor, he was very good at it. Much better than Peter and Ned had been. For fear of his healing, Peter wasn’t brought to a real doctor. No hospitals. Peter wondered why he hadn’t healed yet…

 

Still, at least he had stopped bleeding.

 

Tony was in the doorway while Rhodey worked and Peter couldn’t meet his eyes, because Tony had been yelling for the past thirty minutes. The second Rhodey had injected the numbing medication into Peter’s wound and Tony could shout without feeling guilty, he had taken advantage of the situation.

 

Peter gripped Rhodey’s shoulder to ground himself.

 

“And to hang up on me,” Tony snapped, “How… _arrogant_ can you be, to think that you and your little friend can fix a bullet wound without anyone’s help? You both looked ready to pass out and then what would have happened?”

 

Peter’s throat closed slightly and he whispered, “We…we were just trying to…I was just trying to…”

 

“What?” Tony hissed, “You were just trying to what? Prove to me that you’re completely incapable-“

 

“ _Tony_ ,” Rhodey cut in, “Enough, alright? Give it a rest. The kid just got shot.”

 

Tony shouted, “And he wouldn’t have gotten shot if he had listened to me and just waited to get his suit back! But no, he puts on that onesie, just like with Vulture, and tries to get himself killed! Then, when he’s bleeding out in a bathtub, he hangs up on his only life-line!”

 

His eyes returned to Peter who couldn’t look at the man. Tony pointed a daring finger at the teen and said, “I swear to God, if I catch you out there again before I give you the green light, you’re going to regret it.”

 

“Tony,” Rhodey sounded…shocked…

 

Peter wasn’t.

 

The boy’s eyes were burning as he stammered through a teary voice, “B-but Mr. Stark…They had h-hostages and they were talking a-about some kind of drug. Some boss of theirs…w-wanted some drug that w-was in the vault.”

 

“Sounds like low level stuff,” Tony snapped, “Nothing to get shot over.”

 

“They had hostages! A man was dying!”

 

Tony slammed a hand on the counter, causing Peter to flinch. Rhodey gripped the teen’s knee to stop him from moving too much as the man finally exploded, “ _You_ could have died! _You_ could have gotten those other two hostages killed!”

 

Peter’s tears poured as he argued, “I helped them!”

 

“Enough,” Tony warned, “Stop arguing with me. That’s _enough_.”

 

Peter opened his mouth, despite himself and Rhodey interrupted, “Tony, get out. Jesus, I’m trying to stitch this kid and you’re making him flinch ever two seconds. Just get _out_.”

 

Much to Rhodey’s relief, Tony left.

 

Peter’s eyes found his. Desperate. Peter whispered softly, “Please…Mr. Rhodes. I didn’t mean to get hurt.”

 

“I know,” Rhodey responded, glancing down at the technology that practically walked for him now.

 

He then continued, “It’s hard to reason with Tony when he gets to this stage.”

 

_Probably part of why the fight with Cap escalated so far._

Soon, Rhodey was helping Peter into lie down on his bed, putting several pillows under his leg to keep it elevated. Rhodey said, “I know it’ll be hard, but keep your leg up through the night.”

 

“It hurts,” Peter gritted out.

 

“Your first gunshot?” Rhodey questioned.

 

Peter nodded, “Yeah…I’ve been grazed before, but never like this. And my healing is kind of screwed up right now.”

 

Rhodey moved away, returning with a syringe from his kit. Peter’s brows pulled together and he questioned, “I thought you weren’t a doctor.”

 

“I’m not,” Rhodey chuckled, “But I’ve learned a thing or two hanging out with the Avengers.”

 

Peter nodded and the needle was injected so gently into his arm, he barely felt it. The warmth that spread over him was comforting and Peter felt his eyelids grow heavy and the pain from the wound faded.

 

Tony’s shouts were ringing still.

 

…

 

Rhodey found Tony in the shop, blaring AC/DC.

 

When he first walked in, there was no acknowledgement of his presence. Tony kept his attention on what he was doing, but Rhodey knew he had seen him. Rhodey stood silently for several minutes, and noticed the way Tony was shaking. Hopefully it wasn’t from a drink, but Rhodey couldn’t be sure at this point.

 

Rhodey approached, getting closer and closing the space between himself and his friend. Tony pressed a button on the device next to him and the music cut off. Rhodey’s ears took a moment to adjust and he thought it was a wonder Tony wasn’t deaf at this point.

 

“What?” Tony snapped.

 

“Just…wanted to talk,” Rhodey held out his arms, “And ask what the hell that was up there.”

 

Tony stopped what he was doing, raising his head to glare at the Iron Patriot. War Machine. Whatever the hell he was called.

 

“ _That_ , Rhodey, was the result of a child’s poorly timed and irresponsible actions,” Tony responded.

 

Rhodey sighed and pinched his nose, “Tony, the kid got shot. Not to mention, he just lost his entire family. You can’t cut him a little slack?”

 

“No,” Tony looked disbelieving, “No, Rhodey, I can’t just cut the kid some slack. He nearly got himself killed for being stupid. Not only did he get shot, he _hid_ it from me. He tried to sew himself up in his friend’s bathtub, and I’m just supposed to be fine with it?”

 

Rhodey shook his head, “Did you ever think that maybe the reason he didn’t call was because he knew you wouldn’t understand?”

 

“Give me a break!” Tony retorted, “You might be cool with fifteen-year-olds being self-sacrificial, but I’m not!”

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes, “We both know that the only reason you’re freaking out is because it was Peter. Any other fifteen-year-old and you wouldn’t have batted an eye. Let us not forget that you’re the one that recruited him. You didn’t mind him being self-sacrificial then. In fact, it actually helped you get him to Germany.”

 

Tony was silent. Then he said, “I’m not arguing about this. The kid screwed up and I handled it.”

 

“He was sorry and you disregarded him,” Rhodey insisted.

 

“He disregarded me when he put on the onesie. We’re even.”


	6. Some Friends are Glass with Titanium Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony opened his mouth to retort, but his phone suddenly chimed. He lifted it, looking at the screen. What he read made his brain stop, his heart, his lung, everything froze. His eyes widened and something cold ran up his back…
> 
> SPIDER-MAN SUIT HAS LEFT RADIUS
> 
> A radius Tony had set up after locking the suit away.
> 
> Hell no. Hell no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments! I know that last chapter was a bit intense. This next one is a bit calmer, at least I think so. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think with a comment. Love you all!

Peter spent three days with a homebound teacher.

 

It was a last resort. His healing was still at a slow crawl and since he had only _just_ returned to school and started catching up, Pepper had suggested they hire one for a few days so that he wouldn’t fall even further behind. The excuse was that he had fallen down the stairs. Tony had gotten him a very official looking doctor’s excuse. Voila. Peter could heal his gunshot wound and not ruin his school year.

 

He hadn’t spoken much to Tony since the whole argument. Tony would bring him pain medicine, because he didn’t trust Peter to take the correct amount anymore. He would bring Peter take-out. And scold Peter when he caught him hopping around the penthouse on his good leg. Other than that, the past three days had been awkward and tense and Peter hated it.

 

Pepper had been a good mediator though. Peter assumed she had talked to Tony because the man had stopped pouting.

 

The boy’s room had been filled with boxes from the apartment. True to his word, Tony had, had people move Peter’s things and most of his bedroom items were now with him at the penthouse. The room wasn’t so bare anymore, but because of his leg, Peter hadn’t been able to unpack much. However, currently, he was feeling much better and had decided to spend the night unloading, dreading breakfast with Ms. Orville in the morning.

 

They had rescheduled the appoint that Peter had ruined by getting shot. Instead of dinner this time it would be a morning meal and Peter hoped that was a sign things would be better. Tony was out of the penthouse, doing something for Stark Industries. Peter hadn’t been paying much attention.

 

Only twenty minutes into unpacking, Peter had gotten side-tracked by an old photo album.

 

He considered not opening it. It was a dangerous game, to measure if he was ready to look at pictures of his aunt and uncle. It had only been a little over two weeks, and the ache was still as fresh. Most nights he cried before bed. In that strange zone between reality and dreams. That was where it was the most painful for him.

 

Peter’s fingers traced the leather binding, before he decided to crack the book open. To his surprise, he wasn’t met with pain, rather…A calming sense of nostalgia. Sure, the ache was there too when he paused on one particular picture of himself, his aunt, and his uncle. There weren’t any pictures of his mother and father because the photos were about three years after they had died. But overall, it didn’t hurt. And he found that to be progress.

 

The photo was from a trip to Disney World one summer when he was nine. Aunt May and Uncle Ben had scrapped up money for months in advance. But it had been one of the best vacations of his young life. In the photo, Peter was holding a melting ice cream cone, sitting on his uncle’s shoulders with Mickey Mouse ears on. His aunt was giving a thumbs up and all three of them were sunburned.

 

The teen was pulled from his mind by a loud thump from somewhere in the penthouse.

 

Peter instinctively slammed the book closed, setting it aside as he slunk from the bed, having to hold himself up with the wall. He limped towards his bedroom door, assuming maybe Tony had come home without him realizing.

 

Quietly, Peter asked, “FRIDAY? Is Mr. Stark home?”

 

“No Peter,” FRIDAY’s voice responded, “The individual inside is currently covering his face with a hat of sorts. I cannot get a good read.”

 

_Shit._

Had someone broken in? That didn’t make any sense. FRIDAY had defense systems in place. Unless the person was smart enough to get around them…FRIDAY didn’t seem distressed. Peter grabbed the door-handle, slowly pulling it open and peering down the dark hallway. Night had fallen hours ago and the penthouse was pitch black.

 

Peter started to limp towards the kitchen/living area. When he entered, he found it dark and empty. His heart rate was speeding up and his Spider-Senses were warning him, causing every hair to stand on end, but as he looked around, he saw nothing. Sweat formed on his palms and a part of him, the part that was still a child, wanted to run and hide under his bed and call Tony. But he was Spiderman for Christ’s sake, with or without his suit. He had learned that with Vulture.

 

He was making his way around the large pillar that separated the kitchen and living room when suddenly someone grabbed him harshly by the back of his head and another hand covered his mouth. Peter screamed, but it came out muffled. He was startled and pain shot up his leg at the suddenly force of being yanked forward.

 

The man above him had a hat on, the bill nearly covering his face. Peter shoved, but to his shock, the person was just as strong as he was, able to hold him in place.

 

“Shhh, it’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

 

Peter stopped struggling immediately, recognizing the voice. The hand reluctantly released his mouth and Peter stumbled back, shouting, “FRIDAY, lights on!”

 

They were flushed into brightness and Peter scanned the figure that had grabbed him. He was wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, his baseball cap logo-less. As he lifted his head to look at Peter, the boy’s suspicions were confirmed.

 

Steve Rogers.

 

His facial hair was scruffier and just all around more grown out than the last time he had seen him. Maybe being on the run did that to a person. People could look totally different without facial hair. Peter used the pillar to keep himself upright. The ache wasn’t terrible, but the movement had definitely irritated the wound, only making him wish further that his emotions would stop impeding the healing process.

 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Peter stated dumbly, mentally kicking himself. Of course, Steve knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was Captain America, one of the biggest fugitives in the U.S.

 

Steve removed the baseball cap, responding bluntly, “You’re not supposed to be here either.”

 

Peter’s face must have contorted into something of anger, because Steve amended, “I’ve seen the news. Tony doesn’t seem like the type to adopt kids. I didn’t think he even knew how to speak to children, let alone take care of one.”

 

“He doesn’t know how to,” Peter glanced away, but then continued, “But, I never took you as the type to pry someone’s chest out with a shield...so.”

 

Steve looked surprised…hurt even. Even before meeting him in Germany, Peter knew that Captain America was always the most emotionally open of the Avengers. Television interviews and all the PSA’s he had done were evidence enough. Steve must not have realized he was Spider-Man because he asked, “Did Tony tell you that?”

 

“I saw him right after,” Peter informed, “I went to visit him in the hospital, after you hurt him.”

 

There was bitterness in his tone and a part of Peter was shocked that he was speaking this way to one of his idols. Steve sighed and shook his head, saying, “There’s a lot that you don’t understand about that entire situation.”

 

“I know more than you think,” Peter felt like a child, being talked down to.

 

Steve shook his head, “The Accords were going to hurt people. We had to fight back.”

 

“The Accords will hold people accountable,” The teenager insisted.

 

The other’s eyes narrowed on him. Darkly. And Peter felt worry grip him. Surely Captain America wouldn’t hurt him. Steve didn’t know he was Spider-Man. As far as the man was concerned, he was just some teenager. So…It would be wrong to attack Peter. But then again it had been wrong of Steve to hurt Mr. Stark.

 

Steve replied bluntly, “You’re only saying what Tony told you. And it’s not your fault. You’re a kid and I can understand that trusting adults can become blinding-“

 

“It’s not like that!” Peter interrupted.

 

Raising an eyebrow, Steve asked, “Oh yeah? Then what do _you_ know about the Accords? What do you know about my friend and Tony’s motive to attack us?”

 

Peter made a petulant huffing sound. He didn’t have to prove anything to this guy. But a part of him was desperate to defend himself. Peter crossed his arms over his chest and explained, “I-I know that these Accords make sure that people like u… _you_ guys will be held accountable. And I know that your friend… _hurt_ …Mr. Stark’s mom and dad.”

 

“Did he tell you that my friend was being mind-controlled?” Steve asked, “That my friend couldn’t control what he was doing? That despite knowing this, Tony attacked with the intention to kill my friend?”

 

Something…Indecisive hit Peter. Complex. Peter ran a hand through his hair, unsure of how to respond to that…Because it didn’t sound fair. It didn’t sound fair that Mr. Stark had tried to kill a guy who had no control of his actions. But, then again…If the guy who had shot Uncle Ben was suddenly in front of Peter, claiming he had been mind-controlled, would Peter be able to hold himself back?

 

That was…Hard.

 

Peter’s small voice whispered, “Mr. Stark was your friend too.”

 

Steve looked pained.

 

Suddenly, without warning, Peter felt someone grab the collar of his shirt and yank him backward. Peter shouted in surprise, having to steady himself on the person that was now in front of him. Peter’s mind caught up and he processed that it was Tony, dressed in a suit, having returned from wherever he was. On his hand was a blaster, pointed and glowing directly at Steve. Steve only stepped back an inch, holding up his hands in a passive manner.

 

Peter gripped the back of Tony’s shirt, wobbling slightly as the man formed a protective barrier between him and Rogers. Tony snapped at Steve, “You better have a good explanation as to why you’re in my house or so help me God, I’ll blast you through that window and off the terrace.”

 

There was something venomous in his voice. Something Peter had never heard before.

 

Disdain.

 

“Alright, just give me a second,” Steve sounded like he was talking to a wounded animal, “I didn’t come here to fight-“

 

Tony scoffed, “Well, I didn’t assume that. You look like a homeless man washed up on the shore after a long night of drinking. But I have a feeling that whatever you have to say is just going to irritate me, so get on with it, Rogers.”

 

Steve breathed deeply, “You’re going to have to hear me out.”

 

The blaster made a charging sound, “I don’t _have_ to do anything.”

 

Peter had the urge to intervene, but he suddenly felt very irrelevant to the situation. Steve sighed, stiff as he explained, “There’s something going on. Something underground and trust me, I wouldn’t come to you unless it were absolutely necessary. But people are dying, Tony. Superhumans…Mutants…Whatever term you want to use, they’re being picked off one by one by this drug.”

 

Peter’s ears perked up.

 

When Tony said nothing, Steve continued, “It has to be someone high up orchestrating it. The drug… _does_ things to mutants. Makes them irrational, violent, even causes them to kill people. Then, the government conveniently rolls in and takes them out. Just three nights ago, a super living in rural Pennsylvania was shot and killed by military personnel after becoming violent.”

 

When Tony didn’t lower his weapon or even show interest, Peter chimed in, “The guy who shot me was talking about a drug Mr. Stark! They thought it was in the vault!”

 

“Hush,” Tony snapped. Steve’s brows shot up at Peter’s statement and opened his mouth to say something in response, but Tony wouldn’t allow it, “Get out. I don’t need advice from fugitives, but thanks for the drop by. Maybe just send a post card next time from your hidey hole.”

 

“Tony…” Steve began but Tony looked about ready to fire his weapon.

 

“No,” His voice was icy and Peter thought for a second he was going to have to try and hold Tony back, “The days of helping one another are way past us. You chose the wrong side, Cap. You abandoned your friends and you concealed a murderer. Now get out of my house.”

 

Steve’s eyes moved to Peter’s, until Tony stepped sideways, hiding the teen from view. Sighing, Steve pleaded, “People are dying out there. And no one knows because the government is keeping it under wraps.”

 

“I. Don’t. Care,” Tony growled.

 

Peter’s heart sank. Tony had to care…Some part of him at least…

 

“Alright,” Steve relented, “But…If you change your mind…The phone is always there.”

 

Peter’s brows furrowed. Phone?

 

“Go.”

 

Steve turned, walking out onto the terrace…

 

Then he was gone.

 

Tony lowered the blaster, breathing deeply. Peter released the back of his suit as the man turned to face him, his eyes exhausted. Peter spoke timidly, worried Tony was still reeling from the encounter…

 

“What if he’s right?” Peter said, “The guys who shot me were talking about a drug being there…And if people are dying-“

 

“I already have people investigating the vault incident. All three perpetrators were arrested and are in holding until we can get someone to interview them,” Tony stepped around him, beginning to walk out of the room. Peter turned hurriedly to follow, only to stumble and nearly plummet to the ground. Tony whirled, grabbing Peter by his arms to keep him from hitting the floor.

 

Peter grunted in discomfort as he spoke through gritted teeth, “You’re not listening to me.”

 

“Nope,” Tony said bluntly, “But you’re going to listen to me. You’re going to go work on your schooling and you’re going to forget about this. Then you’re going to figure out how to fix that limp before we have breakfast with Ms. Orville tomorrow.”

 

Peter bit down on his lip as Tony turned and left him alone.

 

He sighed.

 

Re-entering his room, Peter plopped down on his bed. Without hesitating, he grabbed his laptop and typed in information about the Vault crisis. Immediately, several articles about the incident popped up and Peter pressed the Jail House Times website in order to get the mugshots of the three perpetrators.

 

Peter’s eyes narrowed on the man who had shot him.

 

Quickly, Peter pulled out his cellphone, texting the three names to Ned. He ordered:

 

**Can you get me a background check on these guys? I need my guy in the chair.**

Without a beat, a reply came:

 

**Oh dude so cool! Yeah I’ll get into the system and run a detailed scan. Should have it done by tomorrow. I’ll text you.**

Peter’s only reply was a simple ‘thank you’. Peter dropped his phone on the bed, exhausted from the events of the night. Slowly, he lifted the photo album back into his lap and opened to the same picture he had been looking at before.

 

Staring at the faces of his aunt and uncle Peter whispered quietly, “I miss you.”

 

…

 

When Tony entered Peter’s room three hours later, he found the kid asleep.

 

The entire ordeal from earlier was…Unnerving. How had Steve even gotten inside? He would have to do a diagnostics test on FRIDAY later because all in all it was simply ridiculous that Steve had been able to get into the penthouse while Peter was home alone. The complete terror he had felt upon seeing Peter standing in front of Rogers was indescribable.

 

And the kid had been too ignorant to be afraid.

 

Instead he was having a conversation with Cap. And even if Tony hadn’t heard a lick of it through the blood rushing in his ears and his panicked assembly of his blaster, he was well aware that the body language had been much too relaxed.

 

Tony had wanted to blast Steve through that window.

 

He had wanted an excuse.

 

Tony approached Peter’s bed. The lamp was still on and Peter was in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable position with a photo album wrapped tightly in his arms. Tony held two pain-pills in his hand, along with a glass of water. Leaning down, Tony shook the teen’s shoulder as he whispered, “Hey kid…Time for another dose.”

 

Peter’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Tony blearily. Slowly, Peter sat up and set the album aside. Wordlessly, he took the pills and the water.

 

Tony had expected to simply exit. Their days had been so quiet since Peter had gotten shot. Peter shifted, though, and broke the silence by asking, “Did you and your parents take a lot of vacations?”

 

The man didn’t know where the question came from. How it had come about. Maybe the kid assumed because they had a lot of money, they had vacationed a lot. Which simply wasn’t true. Sure, they had traveled a ton, but it was all business.

 

Tony replied, “Not many.”

 

Peter hummed, “Us either. We really couldn’t…Cause vacations are expensive. But…”

 

His fingers fiddled with the edge of the album he had been holding and Tony then understood where the question had originated. Peter went on, “There was this one really great vacation we went on to Disney World. Aunt May and Uncle Ben had scraped money together like, over a year in advance. Even then, we had to drive over sixteen hours because we couldn’t afford plane tickets for all three of us.”

 

Peter smiled to himself, “We didn’t even stay in the resorts. We had a little motel room and took the bus to the park each day. But God…It was so much fun. Even though it was July and it was so _hot_ and the lines were _so_ long. My ice cream melted all over my hand and Aunt May dared me to rub it all over Uncle Ben’s hair…”

 

The smile remained, even though Peter’s eyes turned glassy.

 

Tony nodded, “I’ve never been the one for theme parks.”

 

Peter laughed, “No Mr. Stark, I didn’t think you were. I imagined you being born in a suit and tie, going to lounges for your playdates.”

 

Grinning in return, Tony ordered, “Get some sleep, kid. We’ve got breakfast early.”

 

Peter nodded his head before beginning to adjust himself under the blankets. Tony turned and began to exit, but he was stopped when Peter’s quiet voice called…

 

“Mr. Stark…”

 

Tony turned.

 

“I’m really…I’m really sorry about the other day. About not calling you. I just didn’t…I didn’t want to let you down.”

 

The deafening nothingness that followed made Peter worry he had screwed up with his words. That he shouldn’t have even brought it up. But it felt wrong to keep ignoring it. To keep ghosting around each other and pretending that what happened hadn’t happened. That Tony hadn’t found Peter in a bathtub, hiding a gunshot wound with blood covering him, eyes wide like a child caught lying.

 

Blood had been smeared on his cheeks. It had looked like a horror movie. The ones that always had kids in them to make the stakes higher and somehow said kid always ended up covered in crimson.

 

But Tony only reassured him, much to his surprise…

 

“I’m not going to say it was okay, because it wasn’t. You scared the piss out of me. But…I know why you did it, and I probably shouldn’t have been a dick while Rhodey was stabbing you with a needle and thread.”

 

Peter snorted, “Yeah, you were kind of a dick.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, “Goodnight.”

 

“Night,” Peter whispered as the door shut behind Tony.

 

…

 

Peter found himself in the most spacious back seat he had ever been in.

 

It was a sleek black vehicle and the backseat had two rows, both facing one another. Almost as if he were in a miniature limousine. Sitting across from him were both Tony and Pepper. Tony was doing something on his phone while Pepper desperately tried to get him to pay attention to whatever papers she had in her hands. Papers that had to do with Peter and his situation. The teen squirmed in his seat, only flinching slightly from the pull in his thigh.

 

Pepper had woken him that morning, which was weird. With her she had brought him a suit, but not nearly as fancy as the one he had been forced to wear to the funeral. It seemed more casual, not black, but rather a dark navy blue.

 

His tie was choking him though.

 

Idly, the tugged on it, glancing out the window. He had never been in this part of the city, where everyone drove nice cars and wore perfectly tailored clothes. The restaurants were always booked and it reminded Peter of _Gossip_ _Girl_. Not that he and Ned had spent a whole summer binge watching it with May or anything.

 

The breakfast was scheduled for nine a.m. and surprisingly they were on time. Tony had actually been the one rushing Pepper, but he had made it clear that they needed to get this over with. Woo Ms. Orville so her review of him as a parent would be satisfactory enough for the adoption process to move forward. A process Peter didn’t like to think about because Tony still refused to sit and speak with him on it.

 

Peter had learned that Tony avoided anything he didn’t like. Which was probably why he was still refusing to look at the papers Pepper was shoving in his face. She had made a kind of script, but Tony wasn’t having it. He just kept reassuring her that he had everything under control.

 

“Tony please,” Pepper groaned, “If we want this to go smoothly we need to go over the do’s and don’ts.”

 

Tony finally looked away from his phone and rolled his eyes, “Alright, do’s: Talk about what a difficult yet, emotionally eye-opening experience this has been. Don’ts: Talk about the pill thing, the gunshot thing, etc. etc.”

 

Peter’s face flushed and the looked down at his lap. Tony reassured, “No offense, kid. But it’s probably not something that the mean-social-worker wants to hear.”

 

“Probably not,” Peter hummed in agreement.

 

Peter put a hand over the wound, poking it absent mindedly. The stitches were out. All that was left was a nasty looking scar that too would eventually fade with the healing factor. But it ached on the inside. The muscle and there was always some kind of pinching going on.

 

“Is it bothering you?”

 

Peter looked at Pepper who was grimacing.

 

Shaking his head, Peter replied, “Only sometimes.”

 

“Looked better this morning,” Tony concluded and Peter could feel the car slowing down. Tony was already sitting up, despite Pepper trying to push him back into his seat. Tony went on, “At least you fixed that limp.”

 

Peter blinked and Tony nearly jumped out. Peter let Pepper go before himself and he was the last to file out.

 

The restaurant was at the top of a freaking skyscraper.

 

Peter didn’t know why he thought they’d be going to IHOP or something. Waffle House maybe? The name of the place was French and much too long to pronounce and Peter didn’t know why they would spend this much money on breakfast, let alone any meal honestly.

 

Maybe that was why he had needed the suit. Peter had assumed it was to make Tony look good.

 

Ms. Orville was already waiting for them at a table in front of a view of the city. She stood from where she was sitting and shook all of their hands, but Peter felt like her smile was forced. She didn’t like Tony, but maybe she was trying to see past her bias for Peter’s sake.

 

“I’m very glad we could finally meet today,” Ms. Orville hummed. She turned to look at Peter and asked, “How’s your leg, Peter? Mr. Stark told me you took a fall down the stairs in the penthouse. Are you alright?”

 

Peter cleared his throat, trying not to sound awkward, but lying didn’t come naturally…

 

“Yeah…ha…Totally fine. Just got a little ahead of myself. It was just…some bruising.”

 

Ms. Orville smiled, “Good, I’m glad.”

 

Menus were brought for the four of them. Peter didn’t know what half of the things on it were. His eyes scanned over the words silently, too afraid to ask the adults what anything meant. Plus, everything on the menu cost a fortune. More than the rent at his and May’s apartment. When the waiter returned and did his rounds, he looked at Peter last.

 

“And for you, monsieur?”

 

“Uh…” Peter’s voice cracked, “Just…coffee.”

 

Peter wanted to pull his hair out. He didn’t even like coffee.

 

The waiter raised an eyebrow and Tony looked up at the waiter and ordered Peter something he couldn’t even begin to pronounce, let alone spell. Ms. Orville chuckled as they handed their menus back and she questioned, “I assume you’ve never been here?”

 

“No,” Peter said, “Just IHOP.”

 

That elicited a smile from Pepper, and Tony tsked. Ms. Orville leaned forward a bit, locking eyes with Peter. She started the conversation lightly, asking, “So Peter, tell me how things have been the past few weeks. I know there have been some big adjustments.”

 

“Yeah…” Peter breathed, as if the air had been knocked out of him. For such a light question, it felt very burdened. He looked at Tony, but when Tony tilted his head, he realized this was something he had to answer on his own. Peter cleared his throat, “Y-yeah I mean…It was a lot, especially at first. It’s still a lot. I do miss…home. Obviously. But, since I-I’m with Mr. Stark I…at least didn’t have to go too far away…You know?”

 

Ms. Orville nodded, “And would you say this transition has been reasonable? Like you’ve gotten the support you need?”

 

_Okay, define support._

Peter nodded, “I…yeah I think…so. I feel okay. I mean, some days are harder than others. And when it’s time to sleep…i-it’s hard. But I know I can ask for help.”

 

_Liar. You wouldn’t even ask for help when you were shot._

Peter shook that thought away.

 

Ms. Orville responded gently, “That’s comforting for me to hear, Peter. Truly.”

 

She turned her attention to both Pepper and Tony before asking, “So, I know the two of you got engaged a few months back. I wanted to ask if you will both be co-parenting and if you’ve decided officially to keep Peter at Midtown High?”

 

Tony was in mid sip of his complimentary water that all fancy places seemed to have. The look Pepper shot him was possibly a glare because she was the one stuck answering. Pepper smiled at Ms. Orville and spoke softly, “Yes, it was actually left up to Peter whether or not he’d be staying at Midtown and he chose to do so. And even though this entire experience has been Tony’s endeavor, I’m willing to help in any way that I can.”

 

“I have to admit I was worried,” Ms. Orville said, “In a lot of these cases, when a couple is involved, there’s usually some sort of tension that builds. I find it typically has to do with the sudden, divided, attention.”

 

Tony chuckled, “Pepper has been dealing with me for over ten years. She’s happy when I’m busy and she can get some alone time.”

 

“He still manages to find new ways to irritate me though,” Pepper conceded.

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, but smirked. Peter was almost relieved that the tension had lifted and Ms. Orville seemed more comfortable with the three of them. Peter was also very glad that the attention had turned away from him. Sure, Ms. Orville asked a few more questions, but then somehow, right around the time they started to eat, the conversation had switched to Tony and Pepper’s wedding. Very mundane things.

 

It was like having breakfast with a distant relative.

 

At some point, Peter felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Reaching down and peering at the screen under the table, Peter saw a text from Ned:

 

**So I ran the background checks. Two of the guys were just low-level criminals. Mostly arrested on petty theft charges. But the third guy, Martin Gregory, was interesting.**

Peter texted back, trying to pretend he was in class, hiding his phone from his teacher:

 

**Interesting how?**

The bubbles appeared, then the reply:

 

**He was in the military for ten years. But, he was dishonorably discharged by Thaddeus Ross.**

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. That was the Accords guy. Just as he was about to type his response, someone tossed a rolled up napkin at him. He looked up at Tony, shocked. Tony was wearing an unreadable expression and Peter blinked, confused.

 

“Ms. Orville asked you something,” Tony said.

 

“Oh,” Peter locked his phone, returning it to his pocket. He looked at the woman and apologized, “I’m sorry…I was texting.”

 

Ms. Orville reassured, “It’s fine, Peter. I was just asking if you planned to continue on the Decathlon team.”

 

Peter’s eyes lit up, “I hope so. It’s been awhile since I’ve been to practice…since _before,_ you know? But, I’m hoping I don’t lose my seat.”

 

It would suck to lose his spot to Flash.

 

It was only thirty minutes later that they were leaving.

 

Ms. Orville explained that from what she could tell, Peter seemed to be transitioning as smoothly as possible for someone in his position. That some kind of court date would be set up. It was a lot of legal stuff that Peter didn’t understand, but it was relieving to know that Ms. Orville had no plans to take him away.

 

They made it to the front of the building, where two cars were waiting. Ms. Orville hailed a taxi and Pepper got into one of the two sleek vehicles, kissing Tony goodbye as she went. Peter expected him and Tony to immediately climb into the car Happy was driving, but Tony stopped him with a hand on his arm.

 

“So, what was so important that you completely zoned out texting?” Tony questioned.

 

Peter laughed much more anxiously than he had meant to, “Nothing, Ned just got some legos. It wasn’t a big deal.”

 

Tony leaned back against the car door and ordered, “Don’t lie to me.”

 

The teen blinked several times, his brows pulling together into a furrow. Even though he _was_ lying, a part of him was offended at being accused of it. Maybe he was just angry that Tony could somehow see through him. Peter would never understand how he was so good at reading people, because Peter struggled hard with it. He trusted too easily. Was too naïve. But Tony could look at someone and decipher them in a matter of seconds.

 

Peter forced himself to stay calm, “I’m not lying. Actually, Ned wanted to know if he could come over tonight. I was going to ask you when we got back to the penthouse.”

 

Tony regarded him a few more seconds. As if trying to peel past the boy’s exterior, which wasn’t hard because Peter was an open book more often than not. That had been apparent when Tony had revealed the intention to adopt him and he had immediately let Tony know it was not a good idea. Still his voice had been ignored.

 

He hesitated, then relented, “Fine. But tell him not to geek out.”

 

A genuine smile formed on Peter’s lips, “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

 

Tony opened the car door and Peter bounded inside.

 

Score one for the boys back home.

 

…

 

Ned ended up geeking out anyway.

 

It was around seven when Ned’s mother dropped him off at the penthouse. Peter had waited in the lobby for him and from the moment his best friend entered, carrying a box of legos, he had been in awe. The entire elevator ride up to the main level, Ned couldn’t help but ramble about everything he was seeing. From entering the foyer, to the kitchen, the living room. Everything. And Peter smiled. Genuine.

 

Peter knew Mr. Stark was in the lounge, talking to someone on the phone about a meeting he had missed or something, so Peter decided it wasn’t the best time to bring Ned inside. Besides, Tony knew that Ned was coming over anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

 

The two ducked into his room and Ned turned to face him…

 

“This place is so cool!” Ned exclaimed, “There are holoscreens in the walls! The T.V. is bigger than a movie theater!”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, “You get used to it after a while. I didn’t really get the chance to be impressed.”

 

_The place was shrouded in his grief._

Ned set down the Legos he had been carrying and he emptied the box onto the floor. Peter bit the inside of his cheek as Ned began to explain in fine detail of how they were going to build the _USS Enterprise_. However, Peter approached and kneeled down close to Ned before he whispered, “Buddy…we’re not actually building Legos tonight.”

 

Ned paused what he was doing and blinked, confused. Peter sighed and continued, “You’re going to be my guy in the chair. I need your help get my suit out of the safe that Mr. Stark has it locked up in, in the workshop. Tonight, I’m going to go talk to Martin Gregory about why he was robbing Queens Vault.”

 

His friend’s eyes widened, “ _Dude_! Hell no, I’m not risking pissing off Tony Stark again!”

 

“But you already helped me do the background check,” Peter’s lower lip pouted.

 

“Yeah but…I didn’t know I was assisting in your delinquency! That suit belongs to Mr. Stark, Peter. He built it,” Ned was shaking his head back and forth.

 

Peter groaned, “Yeah, but my onesie got ruined when I had to rip the leg off. Plus, it was gross anyway. I need my suit, Ned, please. I’ve got to figure out what’s going on with this drug. It’s getting people killed.”

 

Ned whispered, “What if _you_ get killed? By Mr. freaking Stark!”

 

“Mr. Stark isn’t going to know,” Peter said slowly, “Because we’re gonna be _super_ careful.”

 

“Ugh,” Ned threw down the Legos.

 

“Please, Ned, come on…Help me out here,” Peter pleaded.

 

Ned stared at the wall for a long time and Peter fought his guilt. Finally, his friend asked in a quiet voice, “Is your leg healed enough? It’s only been four days.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter insisted, “It barely hurts anymore.”

 

Ned nodded slowly, and sighed, “Okay…Fine. But only if you promise to help me build this after you’re done.”

 

Peter nodded enthusiastically and tugged Ned to his feet in a swift motion. After several ‘thank yous’ on Peter’s part, the two began to slink from the bedroom. Peter figured they had a fighting chance, if Tony was still in the lounge. And much to his relief, he still heard Tony’s voice flooding from the barely open door.

 

They entered the kitchen, through the glass door, and down the stairs into the workshop. Peter had memorized the code in the past few weeks. The code Tony enacted whenever he wasn’t inside. After typing it in, they slunk into the dim room, the lights cut out due to its emptiness. Several devices glowed, causes Ned to speak in awe, “This is amazing.”

 

“Should see his one at the Compound,” Peter grinned, “It’s even better. This is nothing compared to that.”

 

“So cool,” Ned replied.

 

Peter led the way towards a large, see-through case in the corner of the room. There were several, each of them holding various models of the Iron Man suit. However, the one Peter stopped in front of was the one that looked different from the rest. Inside was his red and blue suit, waiting to be worn. Peter was excited to hear Karen’s voice again. The last time he had worn the suit, he had muted her.

 

Pulling up the keypad, Peter stepped aside and gestured to Ned. Ned’s jaw dropped and he snapped, “What!? I have to break into this thing!?”

 

“Well you broke into my suit,” Peter said, “This can’t be _that_ different, right?”

 

“It’s totally different!” Ned hissed. But instead of continuing to protest, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He ordered Peter, “Get me a line.”

 

Peter nodded, turning around and beginning to dig through several drawers in the dimly lit workshop. It felt wrong, going through Mr. Stark’s things, but he couldn’t stop. He had to do this. They had to do this.

 

He returned with a white cord, Ned snatching it hurriedly. He plugged one end into his cellphone and the other into the bottom of the keypad. Peter watched in awe as Ned worked. Sure, Peter was good at physics and building, but Ned was so good at programing and tech, it scared Peter sometimes. Maybe it scared Mr. Stark, because when Peter had admitted that Ned had removed the training-wheels from his suit, Tony had turned rather pale.

 

_“Great. A fifteen-year-old hacked my tech,”_ Tony had growled.

 

Peter watched as Ned worked, occasionally glancing at the door with anxiety rippling in his stomach. There were no words to describe the joy he felt when the light blinked green and Ned whooped in success.

 

It was short lived though. As soon as they opened the glass door and began to take out the suit, FRIDAY’s voice questioned, “Peter, what are you doing?”

 

Peter froze, holding the suit close to his chest. Ned’s face had gone pale and Peter swallowed thickly, looking up at the ceiling, as if that was where the AI resided. Peter responded quietly, “N-nothing, FRIDAY. Just getting my suit.”

 

“Boss specifically forbade its use,” FRIDAY said.

 

Peter bit his lip and looked at Ned, stuttering, “Y-yeah, I know, FRIDAY. But…There’s an e-emergency and I need the suit. Please. _Please_ don’t tell Mr. Stark. I-I know he’s your boss and everything, but technically I’m getting adopted soon, so that means you can listen to me too!”

 

The thought of being caught was making his eyes prick with tears.

 

_“I swear to God, if I catch you out there again before I give you the green light, you’re going to regret it.”_

It was a waiting game, before FRIDAY finally relented.

 

“I will keep the information to myself for the time being, Peter. But if Boss asks me I am required to inform him of what you’ve done.”

 

“Yes, okay! Thank you so much!” Peter agreed, hope returning.

 

Both boys rushed out of the lab and back up the stairs. Thankfully, Tony was still in the lounge as they ran down the hallway and Peter closed and locked his bedroom door when he and Ned entered. Peter began to change in a rush, but before he put on his mask and exited through the window, Peter turned to Ned and ordered, “Keep the door locked. If Tony knocks, stall him.”

 

Ned gave him a salute, “Got it. Guy in the chair, remember?”

 

Peter smiled, slipping his mask of his face before climbing from the window into the cold night air.

 

“Hello Peter. Welcome back,” Karen’s voice greeted.

 

“Hey Karen,” Peter grinned, swinging from building to building, “Good to be back.”

 

…

 

Tony hung up the phone with the NYPD chief.

 

He had missed a meeting scheduled to get information on the men arrested for the vault incident. There was no way he could reschedule with Ms. Orville a second time, so he had been forced to choose the ultimatum. Learn more about the men who had shot Peter and were possibly behind a drug smuggling scheme or make sure Peter could stay in his care.

 

Tony would figure out later how he could regain the chief’s favor. Right now the man was just royally pissed about being stood up.

 

In Tony’s defense he hadn’t slept in days and he had forgotten to call and cancel. Not to mention Steve breaking into the penthouse had put him on high alert. He was missing things. Not noticing. He was tired.

 

There was a knock on the lounge door.

 

Tony whirled around in his chair to see Rhodey at the entrance. Rhodey held up his cellphone and said, “Got your text. What’s the emergency?”

 

Scoffing bitterly, Tony stood. He crossed the room, plopping down on one of the sofas. He itched for a drink. But didn’t go to the mini bar in the corner. Not while Peter was here. Not while Peter had a friend over, at that.

 

“Yeah, the emergency is that I’m a little pissed at you,” Tony hummed, “When were you going to tell me the military is executing supers?”

 

Rhodey’s jaw dropped and Tony held up a finger, “Don’t try to lie, because I have a pretty reliable source. A shitty friend, but reliable in the facts department, nonetheless.”

 

Silence ensued and Tony waited patiently. Even though he still wanted a drink. Even though frustration was boiling within him because Rhodey hadn’t told him. No one had and the people connected to this crime had shot Peter. And then Tony blew up and things were awkward between him and the kid.

 

Tony was just all around angry.

 

Finally, Rhodey approached, sitting on the sofa that was located across from Tony, a small table between the two of them. Rhodey sighed and put his elbows on his knees, “That’s supposed to be classified information, you know?”

 

Tony pursed his lips, “Not anymore. So, spill.”

 

“There’s not much to spill,” Rhodey said, running a hand over the back of his neck, “The drug only effects superhumans. We know that for sure. It appears to be very addictive and makes the user violent. Seven supers have been killed so far because they were threatening the safety of the public. But we haven’t been able to get a proper sample because whenever the super dies, the drug almost immediately begins to dispel from the body.”

 

Rhodey paused, “The last known incident was just a few nights ago. Ross’ men took out a teenager. A mutant. They couldn’t get him contained.”

 

A teenager. A teenager, with abilities.…A kid, just like Peter.

 

Tony bit the inside of his cheek, “Why the hell would someone want to drug supers? I mean, it’s not like they can control them. Sounds like the stuff is worse than bath salts.”

 

Rhodey shrugged, “I don’t know, Tony. But I think it’s something you should stay out of.”

 

Tony’s brows furrowed, “The people connected to this drug shot Peter. What if they had, had the drug and used it on him? What if Ross and his men had decided Peter was dangerous and then killed him?”

 

“That didn’t happen though,” Rhodey snapped, “So you need to keep out of it. Especially with the adoption coming up.”

 

Tony opened his mouth to retort, but his phone suddenly chimed. He lifted it, looking at the screen. What he read made his brain stop, his heart, his lung, everything froze. His eyes widened and something cold ran up his back…

 

SPIDER-MAN SUIT HAS LEFT RADIUS

 

A radius Tony had set up after locking the suit away.

 

Hell no. _Hell no_.

 

Tony jumped from his seat, rushing out of the room. Rhodey called after him, confused, but Tony didn’t pause in his rushed movements down the hallway towards Peter’s bedroom. He grabbed the door handle, jiggling it viciously. Rhodey stopped next to him, asking, “What the hell, Tony?”

 

Tony banged on the door, “Kid! You in there!?”

 

_You better be in there, kid._

A small voice, that was not Peter, replied from the other side:

 

“Uhh…Peter’s in the bathroom.”

 

Lame excuse.

 

“Open the door, Ned,” Tony ordered.

 

No reply.

 

Shuffling.

 

“Ned?”

 

Nothing.

 

Tony turned to Rhodey and said, “Kick it down.”

 

“What?” Rhodey breathed, “Why?”

 

“Just do it,” Tony growled, stepping back.

 

Rhodey took a deep breath, moving in front of the door. He braced himself before kicking out, sending the lock from the door and through the wood. Tony heard Ned let out a small shout and the two entered the room.

 

Tony could have punched a hole through the wall.

 

Legos covered the floor, the window was open.

 

And Ned stood with his phone pressed to his ear, shock etched into his features.

 

“Shit.”


	7. This is What Happens in a Field of Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hair on Peter’s neck stood up and his heart stopped.
> 
> “Something is-“
> 
> Peter didn’t get to finish. An explosion went off behind him and he was sent over the table, into the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Got another chapter finished. This one is a bit angst-ridden, because you know, Tony is...Tony. And the plot is slowly beginning to move along. Well, the main plot, anyway.  
> I hope you've all enjoyed so far. I've very much enjoyed writing this, which is probably why I've been updating obnoxiously. XD 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for sticking with me and leave a comment letting me know what you think of this chapter! Love you guys <3

Carlton Correctional Facility was located on Staten Island.

 

Peter had to remind himself that he was going to interrogate someone, because he was enjoying the swinging far too much. It was the happiest he had felt in weeks, and even though the muscle in his thigh was aching a bit, it didn’t take away from the freeing experience. Even just having Karen to talk to reminded him of the way things used to be before everything happened.

 

A part of him worried about Ned and Mr. Stark. But, Tony had sounded busy and the chances of him actually going to check on Peter were slim to none. Especially because Ned was over and Tony wasn’t in a social mood.

 

The teenager could see the lights of the prison ahead, and only four swings later, he was landing on the roof of a shed adjacent to the fence. There were four large towers surrounding the main building, and connecting said towers was a tall, barbed fence. Peter signed in distaste and said, “Hey Karen, you see a good way in? Preferably an entrance with very few heat signatures.”

 

“Yes Peter,” Karen replied, “The west tower appears to be the least occupied. The window at the top is currently housing only two guards.”

 

Peter nodded, “Awesome. Okay, let’s head there.”

 

_So_ much better than his onesie.

 

Peter jumped down from the top of the shed and ran across the open area. One of the downsides to the suit, it couldn’t fly. Which meant if there were no tall buildings around, he was stuck sprinting. Which wasn’t so hard with his powers, but it wasn’t nearly as concealed or quick. The grassy land around the facility was muddy and Peter could feel his shoes sinking into it with each stomp of his feet.

 

He groaned inwardly.

 

Peter didn’t slow as he approached the building. Instead he jumped, much like he had done in DC and began to ascend the tower. A spot light was grazing over the area, but he didn’t think he would need to worry too much in the shadow where he was climbing. He made a beeline for the top window, not pausing to take a breath.

 

By the time he reached the top, his thigh was definitely aching.

 

Peter paused below the window, grabbing the edge as he hesitated to break it open. Quietly, he tried to calm his racing heart. Break the window. Knock them out. Figure it out from there. Peter suddenly understood how worrisome it could be when someone didn’t think things through. He should have planned better, but there was nothing that could be done now. Not with him clinging to the side of the tower, his fingers burning from the hold.

 

He broke the window.

 

The blue and red clad hero jumped inside, much to the shock of the two guards sitting at their computer consoles. Peter laughed nervously, “Sorry guys, this might hurt.”

 

He shot his webs, the concoction sticking to both of their heads before he slammed them together, rendering the men unconscious. Peter sighed with relief. He was glad they weren’t screamers. Quickly, Peter used his webbing to tie the men together on the floor before plucking the key-card from ‘Randy’s’ chest.

 

_Sorry Randy._

 

Peter sat down at the computer and began typing, scanning the keycard to gain access to the data. Several folders popped up on the screen and Peter entered ‘Martin Gregory” into the search bar. The screen’s bar loaded and behold, a mugshot of Martin appeared. Cell B2.

 

Definitely the man who had shot him in the thigh.

 

Peter’s palms started to sweat. He ignored it.

 

Reclaiming the keycard, Peter jumped out of the seat and exited through the opposite window that was facing the inside of the compound. The spotlight was still carding the area as Peter climbed down, landing on the concrete of a courtyard. He flattened himself to the best of his ability until the spotlight passed.

 

Then he ran.

 

Ascended another wall.

 

Broke another window.

 

Office…?

 

“Karen, where the hell am I?” Peter questioned.

 

Karen’s voice answered, “You are in a vacant office on the second floor of Carlton Correctional Facility.”

 

Peter blinked, “Oh well…I meant, am I even in the right place? I’m looking for cell B2.”

 

“You are relatively close to that location, Peter. You’ll need to take a right when you exit and you will find cell B2 past the locked doors. Your keycard should gain you entry.”

 

Peter moved towards the office door, peaking out the tiny window. The hall appeared to be empty and Peter carefully opened the door, cringing at the squeak that rang through the cement walls. Slinking out, the boy took the right, as Karen told him to and sure enough, he was met with a set of locked doors. Peter used the keycard, and a green light buzzed him in.

 

Peter walked past several cell doors. They were heavy duty, small openings to allow for food were located in the middle of each. Other inmates watched him curiously as he passed, but Peter didn’t pay them much mind. Instead he focused on reading the numbers/letters outside each door, screwed into the sheetrock.

 

B2.

 

Peter paused.

 

Approaching, he pulled up the small latch to allow him to peek into the room. In the corner, was a small bed and sitting on that bed a was man. The man. Martin Gregory. Peter cleared his throat awkwardly. He definitely wasn’t going to try the whole interrogation-thing again. That had been so embarrassing…

 

The guy’s head shot up at the sound of Peter clearing his throat. At the sight of Peter looking at him, a strange look crossed his features. Then the man’s eyes rolled and he growled, “You’ve gotta be kidding. They sent the spider-brat to interrogate me?”

 

“Rude dude,” Peter huffed, “And no one sent me. I came out of…curiosity.”

 

Martin blinked, “Didn’t I shoot you? Why were you wearing pajamas last time?”

 

“They weren’t…” Peter growled, “They weren’t pajamas!”

 

The man huffed, beginning to lie back down onto the bed. He placed his arms behind his head casually, replying, “Whatever. I don’t care. Like I told the police, I don’t know shit. So, save yourself some time before you bother.”

 

Peter hummed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Obviously you know something. I heard you. You were talking about the drug and your boss. Pretty crappy guy from what I heard. Sounds like he set you up.”

 

Martin’s eyes shifted away. Yeah, that was something. A reaction at least.

 

“Did he not tell you that the code was incorrect? That the drug wasn’t even there?”

 

Martin scoffed, “Clearly not. We wouldn’t have been there if he had.”

 

Grinning under the mask, Peter said, “Sucks. Sounds like your boss knew you guys were doomed and had it moved beforehand. Kind of rude of him not to warn you.”

 

The man gripped his fists tightly, beginning to sit up. His eyes returned to Spider-Man’s mask.

 

_Got him._

“I read a bit about you,” Peter pressed, “You weren’t like the two guys working with you. In fact, you were far from it, and it’s kind of weird that an ex-military would be hanging around with some petty criminals.”

 

Martin glared, “You don’t know anything about me.”

 

“I know Thaddeus Ross dishonorably discharged you,” _Slowly_ , Peter spoke _slowly_ because this was the part that would be important. Despite not knowing anything about interrogation, he knew what irritated himself. He knew what would catch his own attention. So, he went off of that, “I know that this drug is getting supers killed by military personnel. Personnel that just so happens to be led by Ross himself. And I know that the military is trying to cover it up.”

 

Standing and crossing the room, Martin stood still in front of the opening in the door, glaring down at the teenager. He hissed, “Ross is a damned liar.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, “Sure that’s not just some bitterness over getting fired?”

 

The teen flinched when Martin slammed a hand on the door and shouted, “Ross promised me that my position would be returned if we got the job done! Then he just stabs me in the back and doesn’t warn us about moving the drug! Doesn’t even have the decency to take the fall for those supers attacking people!”

 

Silence.

 

Confusion.

 

Shock.

 

“Ross is your _boss_?” Peter breathed.

 

And maybe he had, had an inkling. Maybe. Because after all, it seemed shady that Ross’ men had been the ones executing the supers. That Martin Gregory had been dishonorably discharged by him. But Peter had thought…Maybe it was a revenge scheme on Martin’s part.

 

Martin’s face was red with rage, “Yeah, crap-stain. He wants the public to know how dangerous supers are so that his Accords will be supported.”

 

Mouth dry. Air gone.

 

“ _He’s_ the one drugging supers?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Breathe.

 

“Shit.”

 

Peter wanted to continue the interrogation. Ask more questions. Learn more. He really did. But he was, after all, still fifteen and when Ned’s caller ID lit up in his mask, he knew he was screwed. Big time. Without a doubt. So, he turned and ran from the door, ignoring Martin Gregory’s calls behind him as he rushed down the hallway and found where he had entered.

 

As soon as he was outside, he answered, grunting as he swung through the air, “Hello?”

 

_“Oh God, Peter, you need to get back here now,”_ Ned’s voice was trembling.

 

Peter swung over the fence surrounding the facility, breaking out into a sprint towards the buildings of the city. He gasped through breaths, “What…Why?”

 

Ned replied, “ _Mr. Stark got his psycho friend to kick the door down…”_ There was speaking in the background then Ned was talking to someone else _, “No, no, Mr. Iron Patriot, sir, you’re not a psycho, you’re really cool; you were just kind of aggressive back there-“_

“Ned!” Peter shouted, finally able to make contact with a roof and begin swinging towards Manhattan, “What’s going on!?”

 

_“Ugh!”_ Ned exclaimed, _“Mr. Stark found out you’re in the suit and he’s coming dude, you need to watch out, he left a little while ago, he’s tracking you-“_

Peter didn’t get to hear the rest of the conversation, because something, _someone_ , suddenly flew in his path. The boy panicked, causing his line to break and sent him plummeting on top of a building and into the gravel covering it. Peter would take the pebbles over the street any day though, and despite some discomfort, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as his last fall.

 

He rolled to his feet, just as someone was landing in front of him on the rooftop.

 

Iron Man.

 

Peter stepped back several strides as the rockets came to a halt and Iron Man dropped the rest of the way with a clank. He towered over the teen and Peter felt his chest constrict with fear. Fear of what was going to happen. Fear of the words. Fear of Iron Man. Fear of _Tony_. And it was stupid and illogical, because Tony wasn’t going to hurt him. Not even after he had gotten shot, but it was still there, that discomfort of everything potentially being ruined.

 

Maybe he feared emotional hurt.

 

“This. Is. Ridiculous.”

 

Tony’s words rang clear through the suit and Peter tried to look tall. Tried not to submit under the glare that he knew was more than likely being cast under the mask. He tried and tried and tried, but still ended up looking like a scared little kid.

 

Steps were taken towards him and Peter forced himself to remain in position, despite the racing in his chest and the sweating of his palms. When he was eight he had broken the new T.V. Uncle Ben had saved weeks for because Peter had left his apple juice where it wasn’t supposed to be. Uncle Ben had ended up being very understanding, but Peter had been so afraid to tell him. It felt like that, only ten times worse.

 

Because this wasn’t Uncle Ben. There was no obligation to love Peter because of blood.

 

“I can explain,” Peter held up his hands, ripping off his mask.

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Tony snapped.

 

Peter gritted his teeth, going on anyway, “I just talked to Martin Gregory, Mr. Stark. He said that Ross is the one that’s been orchestrating the drugging of supers!”

 

There was a pause of surprise. Brief. But then it was gone and Tony pointed a finger at him and shouted, “You weren’t supposed to be getting involved! I told you not to put that suit on again until I gave you the green light! Then you turn around and you get your little friend to hack it for you, Jesus Christ kid, what am I going to have to do? Lock you up?”

 

“You were never going to give me the green light!” Peter retorted, his eyes pricking with tears, but he refused to let them fall. Refused to be weak. “People are _dying_! And you don’t even care! Ross is doing all of this because of your stupid Accords! He wants people to agree with him!”

 

Tony stepped forward, a knot formed in Peter’s throat as he growled dangerously, “If something is going on with Ross you let me handle that. You don’t go out and play dress up, pretending to be an Avenger or some shit, you’re a child! A child that has shown no responsibility and doesn’t deserve the suit!”

 

Peter stomped his foot. Petulant. Childish. But it was a reflex, and he wanted to be _heard_. The way Tony looked down at him was painful and enraging, like he was nothing but a lowly creature to be stomped on a controlled.

 

Peter was so much more than that. He was a person who worked hard.

 

“You’re just mad because Captain America was right and you were _wrong_. Your Accords aren’t as sound as you thought. You fought on the wrong side, and because of _you_ , so did _I_.”

 

It came out quiet. Only one tear slipped through, but Peter considered that a triumph. Tony’s voice was overpowering, even though it was so quiet, it sounded venomous…

 

“Go home, _now_.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to continue his tirade but Tony said, “If that suit isn’t deactivated in the next fifteen minutes, I’ll deactivate it myself, permanently.”

 

That broke the bravery. The stoicism. A sudden realization hit Peter for the millionth time. _He was fifteen_. The suit wasn’t his. He was in a very rough spot because Tony was the only person he could count on right now and even that was falling apart. He could fight, but Tony would fight back and he would win because he had everything and Peter had nothing. No lawyers. No aunt.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Peter’s head snapped upward again.

 

“I’m the adult.”

 

As if that needed reinforcing. Reminding. It didn’t. And Peter wanted to punch him.

 

“Leave. I’m following close behind.”

 

And Peter did.

 

The entire duration of the trip home, Peter tried not to cry angry tears. He tried to keep them at bay enough so that he could retreat as soon as they made it into the penthouse. The sound of Tony’s rockets followed closely behind him. He was anxious. Angry. Angry that he had put in this effort, but nothing was going to be done. And if something was in fact going to be done, it would be without his knowledge.

 

He wouldn’t even get to help and he had been the one to obtain the information.

 

There was something childishly unfair about it all. So, as soon as Peter landed on the terrace, he went into the penthouse. Tony called after him, but he ignored him, throwing the door open and just wanting to get to his room. However, the third time Tony called him, he hadn’t called him _kid_ , he had called him _Peter_. So, the teen stopped and whirled around just as Tony was inside the living room.

 

“ _What_!?” Peter shouted, unable to contain himself any longer. It was boiling over. All of it. The pills, the gunshot, now this. Tony had been unfair. Crazy, even. Manic and he wasn’t Peter’s _father._ Maybe legally in a few weeks he would be, but it wasn’t _fair_.

 

Tony’s face plate had been removed and Peter could see the surprise in Tony’s expression. Peter had been rather subdued, only raising his voice when Tony did, but now the teen’s cheeks were flushed with anger and the damned tears were falling. Peter was angry with himself. When he got _angry_ he _cried_ and he knew it made him look defeated.

 

Peter said, “What do you _want_?! You have something else to say that you haven’t said before?! Wanna call me stupid or incapable or childish _again_ when all I’m trying to do is help people and help myself?!”

 

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Peter wouldn’t let him. The waves were crashing. He felt sick, and he couldn’t bottle anything up anymore. He couldn’t keep it inside. His body ached from sobbing over May for so long. His stomach muscles were physically pained from crying every night before bed. It was like a deep seeded chronic tear in his body that was never going to heal.

 

Peter continued, “I’m so tired. No matter how much I sleep I’m still tired and tired and tired! And you don’t even try to see or hear me!”

 

“Stop,” Tony’s voice surprisingly wasn’t angry, it sounded more concerned than anything. Concerned that Peter was ripping apart. Peter wanted to laugh. Tony had no idea.

 

“What? Am I freaking out?” Peter chuckled bitterly through his tears, “Want to send me to my room? Because I’m _tired_ and need more sleep? But when you scream it’s okay because you’re the adult, right? _Right_?!”

 

Peter stomped forward and Tony’s jaw set as the boy sobbed, “Aunt May loved me. She was the only one left who loved me and you pretend to care about me the same way she did, but that’s _not_ why you’re adopting me. You feel bad. Like Sokovia. You don’t care about those Accords, just like you don’t care about the adoption papers. You’re just trying to fix things, but signing your name on paper doesn’t _fix_ things!”

 

He couldn’t breathe. It was like being in the back of the car again.

 

No air. Rope around his legs. Water.

 

Tony reached out to touch him, but Peter cringed back sharply and screamed, “Don’t! Don’t _touch_ me!”

 

The man looked hurt and Peter thought, _good_. Good. He should be hurt.

 

Rhodey and Ned appeared in the room, just as Peter was rushing out. He ignored their voices, calling after him and retreated into his bathroom. He turned on the shower, stripped out of the suit and threw it out the bathroom door, slamming it shut again before locking it.

 

He then crawled into the shower, curling into himself as the cold water sprayed, washing the warm tears away.

 

…

 

When Peter finally dragged himself out of the shower and back into his bedroom, the suit was gone.

 

He figured it would be, as he changed into some sweats, sneakers, and a t-shirt. His fingers had pruned from sitting in the shower so long. His body hurt from crying and his eyes felt swollen. Nothing about anything was okay at the moment and as soon as Peter finished tying his sneakers, Ned entered his bedroom.

 

“Hey…” Ned greeted quietly, “You alright?”

 

Peter looked up from his place on the bed. Sighing, he answered, “Yeah, I’m…okay. Sort of. I’m sorry I dragged you into all this. If Mr. Stark was a dick to you-“

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ned chuckled nervously, “When he realized you were gone, he didn’t really even notice me. He kind of just ran off and left me with Mr. Iron Patriot.”

 

Peter felt a small smile tug at his lips, “His name is Mr. Rhodes. He’s really cool.”

 

Pausing he then questioned, “Where are they?”

 

Ned was chewing the inside of his cheek as he answered, “They left. I’m not sure where they were going, but Mr. Stark looked pissed and Mr. Rhodes looked…worried.”

 

Peter gripped his hands so tightly, his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms. Everything about this was screwed up. Ross was hurting people. A guy that was high up in the government, and things like that were so dangerous. So scary. Especially since he was targeting supers. _Killing_ supers. Sure, Peter wasn’t the same as a lot of mutants. He hadn’t been born one, which was also why he decided not to tell Aunt May. He knew there were schools for mutants, but as long as it stayed a secret and he could control it, he knew the information really wasn’t worth sharing.

 

Then he had decided to do the hero thing. And it became even more obvious he shouldn’t tell May. It endangered her.

 

But she ended up dying anyway, in a very mundane way.

 

Peter’s eyes raised to meet Ned’s. Something was sparked there, behind Peter’s brown irises. Ned’s brows furrowed, then shot up as he breathed, “Dude, no more antics tonight. I thought Mr. Stark was gonna kill you. Please don’t do anything.”

 

“I can’t just sit here,” Peter stood, beginning to exit the room and go down the hall. Ned followed close behind and Peter called over his shoulder, “Ross is going to keep hurting people and it doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark is willing to do anything about it, so I’m going to fix it.”

 

Ned grabbed his shoulder and shouted, “Peter!”

 

The other teen pulled away and turned, “Ned, what if this was me? What if Ross had drugged me? Or someone we know that might be a mutant? I have to tell someone who’s going to do _something_.”

 

Ned groaned, “Who the hell are you going to tell?”

 

Peter didn’t respond. Just gestured for Ned to follow.

 

To his surprise, Tony’s door was open when he entered. The room was clean. Cleaner than the shop downstairs, but the maid came every few days, so that was probably why. Peter started by digging through the nightstand, even pulling the pillows and sheets off Tony’s bed.

 

“What are you doing?!” Ned exclaimed, “Are you trying to get us killed?!”

 

Peter sighed, continuing to dig through the dresser and he peeked under the bed as he explained, “Steve Rogers was here the other night trying to convince Mr. Stark that something was wrong. Mr. Stark didn’t listen. But before he left, Mr. Rogers said that there was some kind of phone…”

 

Ned said nothing in return. Probably was just in awe that Peter had spoken to Captain America. The fifteen-year-old moved to the giant closet, pushing past several suits before turning his eyes to the top shelf. There were several items and Peter pulled them all down, dodging as shoes, jackets, and things alike fell down upon his head.

 

Then came the empty shoe box.

 

It hit Peter over the head and both Peter and the box hit the floor with a thud. It flew open and out slid a tiny flip phone…

 

Ned stood in the doorway, eyebrows pulled together…

 

“Looks like a dinosaur.”

 

Peter reached for it and flipped the phone open. The light came to life and Peter began pressing buttons, bringing himself to the contact list…

 

There was only one phone number.

 

Steve.

 

Peter glanced up at Ned.

 

He clicked the green button.

 

…

 

Tony fumed the entire drive to Ross’ New York office.

 

Maybe he was fuming over Peter’s outburst. Or maybe he was fuming over the fact that the teenager had been right and Tony had completely screwed up. Maybe he was fuming because of the new knowledge that Ross was using the Accords as an excuse to kill people. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

 

He gripped the wheel tighter.

 

Either way, when he had called D.C. and had been told that Ross was in fact staying in New York, Tony hadn’t been surprised. Most of the killings had been within such a radius. Ross was basing himself in the city and planning. Plotting. Whatever the hell assholes did. Tony pressed the gas ever so slightly at the thought, causing Rhodey to grip the handle above his head tighter.

 

“Tony, you gotta calm down.”

 

“I’m calm.”

 

“I would beg to differ. We should have called Happy.”

 

“Happy needs beauty rest.”

 

“ _I_ need to _live_.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes. Dramatic. He slammed a hand on the steering wheel suddenly and snapped, “Right under my nose. Ross was doing this right under my nose and I had no freaking idea that he was behind it, Jesus Christ.”

 

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Rhodey sighed, “I knew about the drugging of the supers, but had no clue that Ross was involved…You think there’s any chance that inmate was lying? Maybe to get back at Ross for discharging him?”

 

Tony breathed out slowly, “Why not just give up his real boss though? Why go through the trouble of making up a new one if he knows he’s not going to get a plea deal?”

 

Rhodey said nothing and Tony grumbled under his breath, “Worst of all, Steve was right. He said it had to be someone high up. I could punch out his perfect teeth.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, Rhodey snapped, “Seriously? You’re angry because Steve was right?”

 

There was a slight glance from Tony’s end and Rhodey threw his hands up, no longer distracted with holding the handle, “Maybe you should be angry that you ignored Peter, you know?”

 

“Don’t,” Tony’s voice sounded like a warning, “Alright, don’t… _do_ that.”

 

To his surprise, Rhodey relented. Maybe he could hear the pain. Maybe he had heard the argument. He wouldn’t be surprised, because Peter had been screaming, and Peter _never_ did that. Tony knew it was his doing. That he had driven Peter to that point. But he hadn’t been able to admit it verbally. Hadn’t been able to apologize. Because Howard _freaking_ Stark lived inside of him and prevented such things.

 

The rest of the drive was silent, until they were parking on the street in front of Ross’ office.

 

The building was relatively abandoned, due to it being so late at night, but both Tony and Rhodey knew precisely where to find Ross. They had, had enough meetings with him to memorize the exact path to his office, and sure enough, one of the only lights on was from his open door.

 

Both men appeared, and there Ross sat at his desk. He looked up from his place, brows furrowed…

 

“Stark…Colonel Rhodes…What a surprise.”

 

“Do you sleep?” Tony questioned.

 

Ross shrugged, closing whatever file he was looking at. His voice came out more annoyed than polite, “The world is constantly in chaos, therefore I’m constantly awake…What can I do for you two? It’s not every day that I get Tony Stark to willingly come to my office. Most of the time I have to leave at least sixty messages with your secretary.”

 

Tony glared. “Well, I made an exception for tonight.”

 

Rhodey places a hand on his shoulder a shook his head slightly. He was approaching it wrong, but Tony didn’t care. Ross had taken something that was meant to better the public and had turned it into a death sentence. All because there were still people in government that didn’t agree with it. All because he wanted to convince them…

 

Peter had been right.

 

Steve had been right.

 

Tony’s chest clenched as Ross questioned, “What can I do for you both?”

 

Tony opened his mouth, ready to get to the nitty-gritty. However, Rhodey interrupted, “We…have recently heard something rather disturbing. And we thought it would be best to come to you about it.”

 

_Bullshit_ , Tony thought icily.

 

Ross leaned forward curiously and Rhodey continued, “We had a… _colleague_ of ours interview one of the perpetrators of the Queens Vault crisis. Apparently, during the interview, former soldier Martin Gregory, stated that you were behind the recent drug attacks on mutants.”

 

A look of utter surprise crossed Ross’ face. He was going to lie, Tony could tell, making his body burn with anger. The fact that he had the audacity to sit in that chair and fib to their faces was almost nauseating. Even more so was the ease in which he managed to do it…

 

“Martin Gregory was…A disturbed man. Which is why I let him go. This colleague of yours…well they must be mistaken.”

 

Lies. Lies. Lies.

 

Tony glared into Ross’ eyes. He knew. Ross knew Tony knew. There was this silent understanding, like the incident on the Raft. But they needed each other. Tony gripped his hands tightly and he growled, “You’re a bad liar.”

 

Ross scoffed, turning to face Rhodey, “Colonel Rhodes, you do know that those incidents were classified and should not have been shared with Stark.”

 

“I know sir,” Rhodey admitted, “But…He seemed to have figured it out himself.”

 

Curiosity hit Ross’ expression, then disappeared, back to an unreadable one. He folded his hands together on the table and peered up at Tony, questioning, “And how did you come across such sensitive information?”

 

Steve, but Tony wasn’t going to admit that. It would violate his and Ross’ silent, mutual, ignorance. Way _over_ violate it actually, because Steve was the one thing Ross wanted and Tony couldn’t admit that he knew that Steve was somewhere, hiding close. Tony growled, “Well, I’m not just a playboy, you know?”

 

“Oh, I know,” Ross smirked, “How _is_ that whole adoption scandal going?”

 

Tony tensed as Ross continued, “Peter is his name, correct? Cute kid. Saw his picture in the newspaper a few days ago…”

 

Ross glanced at a picture on his desk and hummed, “My daughter likes science too.”

 

Suddenly, Tony couldn’t find words. There was something oddly…enraging and terrifying at hearing Ross say Peter’s name. Terror bubble up in his throat and he didn’t like the look Ross was giving him. A silent alarm. A quiet threat. Ross wasn’t going to say it out loud, but Tony knew what he was implying. Tony had something to lose. Before it was just Pepper, but now there was a child. A child with a secret. A child that was the exact type of person Ross was targeting.

 

The smirk turned to a smile and Ross chuckled, “Hopefully you can do better than ol’ Howard. From what I heard, he wasn’t the best to grow up with.”

 

Tony stepped forward. Rhodey grabbed his arm tightly.

 

“You can’t do this,” Tony seethed.

 

Ross only tsked…

 

“I’ve done nothing. All you have in your corner is a dishonorably discharged individual and an anonymous colleague. What do I have to fear?”

 

…

 

The twenty-four hour café was empty.

 

Peter sat at a tiny table outside the glass windows of the building, listening to the quiet music from the speaker above his head. It was some kind of indie song that he didn’t know. The streets were basically abandoned, which is why he guessed that Mr. Rogers had told him to meet him there in the first place. It must have been familiar.

 

His fingers trembled in the cold, even though he had worn a thick jacket over his t-shirt. After getting Ned a taxi to go home, Peter had headed straight to the rendezvous location. Ned had begged to come but Peter had declined to allow him. He couldn’t put Ned through anymore tonight, even if it would have been totally awesome to introduce him to Captain America.

 

The three individuals seemingly appeared out of nowhere…

 

They approached in a line, and they would have been almost menacing if Peter didn’t know better. But it was Steve Rogers, scruffy still. Beside him was Natasha Romanoff and beside her was Sam Wilson. Peter remembered the both of them vividly. Remembered fighting Sam hand to hand, Steve too.

 

Peter smiled awkwardly as they began to sit down. Only Steve returned it.

 

“H-hi,” Peter started lamely. His hands started to shake more. They didn’t know he was Spider-Man. But something behind Natasha’s eyes told him otherwise about her. Maybe she knew. Before they had gone to Germany, Tony had told him not to talk to her much. That she was dangerous. Peter had talked to her anyway though. Because after all, she had been on their team at the beginning of the fight. Somewhere within it though, she had switched sides.

 

She had been nice.

 

“Hi Peter,” Steve cleared his throat, “Thank you for calling me.”

 

It seemed genuine. Like true gratitude was behind his eyes. Peter laughed nervously and responded, “Well, I remembered what you told Mr. Stark about the phone. So, I found it…In a show box. I-It fell…On my head.”

 

He was rambling.

 

Sam spoke next, saying, “Just to make sure, this isn’t some trap, is it?”

 

Peter’s eyes widened, “No! Of course not! I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”

 

Both men looked at Natasha. She nodded, “He’s not lying.”

 

Peter didn’t know whether to be glad or freaked out. Wringing his hands together, he stared down at the table as Steve asked, “So, we’re going to need you to explain. You weren’t very specific on the phone. What did you find out about the drug?”

 

“A lot,” Peter croaked, his heart racing, “I-I talked to one of the guys who robbed the Queens Vault. He was dishonorably discharged from the military by Thaddeus Ross. He said that…He said…”

 

Peter breathed deeply, “He said Ross hired him to steal the drug. That Ross has been d-drugging supers...Mutants…T-to make them seem more dangerous. So, the Accords will look better.”  


Natasha’s face didn’t change, but Steve looked shocked and Sam looked angry. Sam looked over at Steve and sighed, “Well, you were right about it being someone high up, but Christ…I didn’t think it would be the top-guy himself.”

 

Steve rubbed his chin, letting out a distressed sound. Peter looked back down at the table. He was still shaking. From the cold or anxiety, he wasn’t sure anymore. He just wanted them to fix it. He wanted to help, but he would never get his suit back at this point and he didn’t even know where to start with Ross.

 

Steve sighed, “This just got much more political.”

 

Peter noticed Natasha staring at him. He blinked at her and she stated, “You got into trouble with Tony.”

 

The boy gulped. How did she know?

 

Quickly, he averted his eyes to the concrete below his feet. He dug his nails into his palm again and he breathed, “That’s an understatement.”

 

“Did he hurt you?” Sam asked.

 

Peter’s head shot up, shock etched into his features. He shook his head furiously, “N-no! Mr. Stark would…Mr. Stark would _never_ hurt me.”

 

His voice was fierce, his eyes holding a fire that told the three adults it was true. Sam nodded, face a stone. Steve opened his mouth to say something, his eyes going soft. Maybe he was going to comfort Peter, but the teen would never be able to find out what he had wanted to say.

 

The hair on Peter’s neck stood up and his heart stopped.

 

“Something is-“

 

Peter didn’t get to finish. An explosion went off behind him and he was sent over the table, into the street. The three others were also thrown to the ground, the glass of the café exploding. It rained down on Peter’s head and quickly he shielded his face from it. It sliced into his hands, and warmth oozed down his fingers.

 

Adrenaline began to pump through his body. He rolled to his feet, stumbling to find his footing. Steve was a few inches in front of him, standing as a sort of barrier while both Sam and Natasha were to his left, on their feet. They were speaking, but Peter couldn’t hear anything past the ringing in his ears. Everything was too loud. Too close. The world was spinning viciously.

 

That was when he saw the military truck, green, pulling up at the empty four-way intersection. Several soldiers stepped out as another truck pulled up and those soldiers did the same. Peter’s stomach churned at the sight, or maybe he was still reeling from the explosion. Maybe it had been a grenade…

 

“Steve Rogers,” One of the soldiers shouted, “You are under arrest for treason against the United States of America. Turn around and put your hands over your head.”

 

Peter’s hearing must have been returning, because Sam turned to Natasha and snapped, “What are we? Leftovers?”

 

Peter would have laughed if it hadn’t been so serious.

 

Steve called back, “With all due respect: no!”

 

Stepping around him, Peter began to assess the situation. Eight soldiers. Two armored vehicles. It wasn’t good odds, but Captain America was there and eight soldiers would be nothing, _surely_. Peter expected them to raise their guns…To start shooting…

 

But that wasn’t what happened.

 

A small sphere was thrown towards the group, landing directly at Peter’s feet. A puff of air flew out and Peter saw out of the corner of his eye as the other three heroes covered their mouths with their shirts. Peter supposed he should do the same, but Steve grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground behind him so forcefully that Peter couldn’t help but open his mouth and gasp.

 

And it _burned_.

 

Almost immediately, without warning, a sudden unbearable sting filled his lungs and his eyes. Peter gagged, covering his face with his hands as tears began to streak through. He thought…Maybe it was tear gas. A way to subdue them. But even that time an old lady had pepper sprayed him didn’t compare to this. It was like someone had poured bleach down his throat and into his face.

 

_Air. Air. Air._

Peter didn’t even hear himself screaming bloody murder.

 

Didn’t understand why Steve was suddenly restraining him into the concrete.

 

Why all he could see was red…

 

And then nothing at all.


	8. Born, Swaddled in White and Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony couldn’t even cry. He just felt angry. At himself. At Steve. At everyone who hadn’t looked out for the kid. He had promised May. He had sworn. And this kid…
> 
> This kid was important to him. A damned treasure. Peter was something Tony couldn’t build. Couldn’t create. And yet he was everything all in one little human being.
> 
> He slammed his fist onto the gurney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know okay! I'm probably really irritating at this point haha, but I couldn't just leave you guys with that vicious cliff hanger. You all asked so nicely for me to update ASAP so I felt it was my duty. Just a warning, the F bomb gets dropped in this chapter and I know some people won't care at all (obviously because the comments indicate such things XD) but if you do care, I just thought I should warn you. It was appropriate for the situation, but some people get squirmy about language and all that, I get it. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one. We kind of get to delve pretty deep into Tony's mind. Let me know what you think with a comment! Love you guys so much. Again, I just felt bad and you all asked so nicely haha!

Tony and Rhodey had left Ross’ office feeling a little more than defeated.

 

It had been an angry debate, full of swearing and throwing things on Tony’s part. But Ross hadn’t budged. Had stuck to his story, even though he made it very clear it was all a lie. A ruse. But without definitive proof, there was very little that Tony and Rhodey could do. And since Rhodey wouldn’t let Tony kill Ross right then and there, the man had been forced to leave just as empty handed as when he had come.

 

_“Tony, you have to think about Peter. You can’t just blast Ross sky high. Where will Peter go then?”_

Rhodey had known exactly where the guilt laid and had played it to his advantage in order to make Tony leave. And Tony had done it, because the kid didn’t need to end up alone again.

 

Even if Peter hated him at the moment.

 

Tony was truly at a loss. Ross was killing people. Peter was trying to get _himself_ killed. Tony really had no back up besides Rhodey at this point and he didn’t have a clue of how he was going to get proof of Ross’ actions. He was greying with each passing moment. Each day things seemed to get more difficult, rather than better like he had hoped.

 

“We’re going to get him, Tony,” Rhodey reassured from his place next to him.

 

Tony held the steering wheeled tighter under his hands, “You sure? Because he seemed pretty confident back there.”

 

“He’s only confident because we haven’t gathered enough evidence. Once we do that, we can turn around and fix this.”

 

Evidence. Their only evidence was that from a fifteen-year-old kid and a man sitting in a prison cell. There wasn’t much more than that and Tony’s chest constricted at the thought of having to use anything recorded from Peter’s mask because that, _that_ was terrifying because just the thought of people hearing Spider-Man speak was enough to send him into a panic. Peter was safe behind the mask, but his voice wasn’t…

 

Tony tried to calm down.

 

Overall, it was a horrific situation. Ross knew too much. He knew more than he was letting on, Tony could read that much after their previous conversation. Why else would he feel the need to bring Peter up? There was something else going on. Something that had sparked behind Ross’ eyes and Jesus…Tony was starting to freak the hell out at the thought of someone coming for the kid. The kid he had practically disarmed.

 

They pulled up to the curb in front of the penthouse. Tony didn’t realize he was gasping, that Rhodey was speaking, until a hand gripped his shoulder. His head yanked in Rhodey’s direction. He hadn’t freaked out like this since the whole ordeal with Pepper being taken. After the wormhole. Those first several months had been hell and he thought he had figured it out.

 

He thought he had fixed it.

 

“Tones, come on man, breathe,” Rhodey held his shoulder, “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

Tony looked away. Said nothing. Just threw the car door open and stepped out into the freezing air as he tried to catch his breath. He knew it wasn’t a heart attack, but every time panic set it, it felt like one. Like watching Peter freak out in the back of the car. Watching him cry and even though Tony wasn’t shedding tears, it was the same. And it hurt.

 

Rhodey was out of the car. Saying more. Standing beside him, but giving him space. He didn’t try to touch him again. Tony bit down on his knuckle and the pain brought him back to reality. Back to where he was with Rhodey.

 

Once he caught air in his lungs he breathed, “Jesus, this kid is going to be the death of me.”

 

Rhodey shrugged, “I could have told you that.”

 

It had been on a whim. Wanting to sign those papers. Wanting to make sure Peter had a place that was secure. He hadn’t thought about it, until just then. He was still going to do it, there was no doubt in his mind he had to sign those papers because it was the only way to keep Peter safe. Maybe that was irrational. Maybe it was all irrational and he would put the kid in a bubble if he could, just like he would put Pepper in one.

 

But he couldn’t keep Peter away from the big-bad-world forever.

 

Tony leaned against the car, “Ughhhh…Irritating.”

 

“What?” Rhodey questioned.

 

“All of it,” Tony sighed, “Not that I expected it to be easy. Nothing is ever easy. But I didn’t think he’d fight me tooth and nail. And now the stuff with Ross just gets piled on. I’m just really pissed off, all the time.”

 

He paused, “You know, there was a time when he was well behaved?”

 

Rhodey nodded, “I remember. But that was also before everything with May happened.”

 

And Tony knew that. He knew Peter was still grieving. Occasionally he did forget. Because Peter was alright sometimes. Smiling. Laughing. And then other times, his eyes were glazed over and he looked entirely broken. Tony didn’t help, because he couldn’t differentiate between the two separate Peters. He didn’t know they were one in the same and when Peter was angry and screaming at him, he was also angry and screaming with loss. With pain.

 

It had been almost three weeks, but that amount of time was not enough for a child to heal.

 

It was barely enough to blink and in no reality should Tony expect so much out of Peter.

 

But he did.

 

After a few moments of silence, Tony locked the car and the two men began to make their way into the building and up the elevator. The ride was silent and Tony just wanted to talk to Peter. Apologize. Assure the teen that he did understand, even though sometimes he was blind and deaf to Peter’s pain, he knew it was there now and he was _sorry_.

 

Until he couldn’t find Peter in the penthouse.

 

Even with Rhodey’s help, the two couldn’t locate either Peter nor Ned. The suit was still in the case where Tony had put it after Peter had thrown it out of the bathroom. Everything was in its place and the anger was welling back up again.

 

But Rhodey’s phone went off and the look he gave Tony was heart-stopping.

 

“Tony…” Rhodey breathed, “Ross’ men have Captain America and three other individuals cornered outside of Reggie’s Café…There’s a fight breaking out.”

 

Tony was in his suit before he could blink.

 

Rhodey climbed into a spare and they were out on the terrace in seconds, shooting out into the dark sky. Tony stared ahead, speaking to his AI, “FRIDAY, get me to Reggie’s Café, now.”

 

“Got it boss,” FRIDAY responded dutifully.

 

Heart pounding. Racing. Terror. The explosions were erupting in the distance, Tony could see and hear the gunshots even from his place several miles away. If Peter was there…Jesus. Why would the kid be so stupid? Why would he turn around and do this right after getting into so much trouble? Tony was starting to think that speaking to Peter was like speaking to a brick wall. Pointless.

 

He had no idea what he was doing.

 

Tony rounded the café to the front and was immediately met with what looked to be a battle ensuing, just as Rhodey appeared beside him. Both hovered in the air, scanning the area. Three soldiers lay unconscious. Two were engaging in hand to hand combat with Natasha Romanoff. Three more were facing off with Sam Wilson.

 

But Steve…Steve was there too and he was currently restraining a small form into the ground.

 

Peter.

 

Tony considered blasting the man in the back, because from where he was it looked like he was hurting Peter. But upon further inspection, Peter looked…manic. Possessed and pale, eyes wide and tears flowing. A glow of sweat was on the child’s forehead and Tony immediately made a beeline towards the pair while Rhodey flew to assist the others.

 

Terror. Terror. Peter was screaming bloody murder, Tony could hear it now over the gunshots surrounding them. He landed directly beside Steve, only catching the man’s attention for a fraction of a second as Tony snapped, “What the hell is happening?!”

 

“The drug!” Steve shouted back over the noise, “He got gassed with it!”

 

Peter was withering, squirming, crying…Tony wanted to shove Steve off the teen. Grab Peter and run. But the risk of Steve releasing Peter seemed too great. The teen looked to be in pain and there were scratches on the arms of his coat as if he had tried to tear his skin open. His nose was bleeding and Tony wondered if it was from the drug or if he had gotten hurt.

 

Tony was about to kneel beside him. About to try to talk some sense into the child when the sound of another truck rolling up caught his attention. He whirled, watching as two more soldiers stepped out…

 

One of them being Ross.

 

In the time he had been distracted by Peter, Natasha had taken care of both of her adversaries, and Sam and Rhodey only had one left. Rhodey blasted him, leaving Ross and the new soldier standing before them.

 

Ross looked…Pissed.

 

“Fancy meeting you two here!” Ross called towards Rhodey and Tony, “I suggest you both stand down and step away from the fugitives!”

 

Peter was _screaming_ and Tony knew that if he didn’t get the child out of there soon, he was going to end up murdering Ross himself, because the sobbing from the kid, the kid that was _important_ to him, was enough to send him over the edge. Ross’ men had drugged Peter. Peter was crumbling in agony. He didn’t seem violent towards Steve and the rest. He seemed violent towards himself. Like he was dying.

 

Silence among the adults won over. Tony stood in front of both Peter and Steve.

 

Without a word, he raised his blaster and fired it towards the vehicle directly behind Ross and the soldier. Both men ducked away as the blast hit, sending the vehicle up in flames. The explosion was deafening as Tony took the opportunity to turn back around and face Steve. He pointed to the remaining two vehicles and ordered, “Get him to the Compound, Rhodey and I will cover you guys!”

 

Steve gave a tight nod, and scooped the struggling teenager into his arms and over his shoulder, sprinting towards the vehicle. Ross and the soldier were struggling to stand as Natasha and Sam filed into the vehicle after Steve, Natasha taking the driver’s position.

 

The truck started and peeled away.

 

Tony and Rhodey took off into the air.

 

Tony’s mind raced the entire flight. Whatever the drug was, it was bad news. He didn’t even know where to start with the kid. He knew the child needed medical attention, but what about Ross? He had just blown the man’s vehicle to smithereens with him standing only a few feet away. He was helping fugitives to escape.

 

Peter had been drugged. Jesus. The kid had been _drugged_.

 

Now he was having to rely on the friends who had betrayed him to get Peter to the Compound in one piece. And sure, he was flying over them, but there was something ominous. Sam had blasted Rhodey out of the sky (Tony was well aware it had been Vision’s doing, but it was so much easier to blame the fugitive). Injured him severely. Steve had tried to pry Tony’s chest out with a shield. _Severely_.

 

The betrayal was still fresh and it made him sick to have to put Peter in Steve’s arms and hope he would get the kid there safely.

 

Tony couldn’t breathe again, but he ignored it.

 

He had grown so used to being breathless since the kid had come into his care.

 

It was a constant weight. Constant worry and Tony wondered how people could do this for eighteen freaking years when the thought of doing it for three was daunting enough. Not to mention it would probably stem past that. Way into Peter’s adulthood. Tony would be breathless forever. Always anxious. Always afraid the kid was _dying_.

 

Even though he saw Peter’s heat signature in the truck. Knew he was still alive below him, he was so afraid.

 

_The kid being pulled down by the parachute he had built._

_Sending the empty suit._

_The ferry almost tearing Peter in half._

_The plane wreckage._

AIR!

 

Tony landed outside the Compound just as the vehicle pulled in. Both he and Rhodey didn’t hesitate to remove their suits and move into the medical wing to begin setting up. Rhodey looked at him and asked, “What prep are we going for?”

 

Tony didn’t know. His knowledge of medical science was limited to curiosity, nothing sound. Bruce had been gone since the Ultron incident. They didn’t have a doctor on hand, didn’t need to, not since the Avengers had disbanded. It would take hours to assemble a team.

 

Breathing slowly to calm his heart, Tony ordered, “Unknown overdose. Prep for that.”

 

Rhodey was moving, grabbing wires and machines, pulling them towards the bed. Tony himself grabbed several syringes and vials. He didn’t read them, but having them within arm’s reach would be helpful.

 

Then Steve was entering, Peter over his shoulder, Natasha following with Sam. Too many people in one room. Peter was placed on the gurney and Natasha suddenly grabbed a syringe…

 

Tony gripped her wrist when she stepped towards the teen, who was still screaming.

 

“Tony,” She warned.

 

“Don’t,” Tony snapped, “Only Rhodey and I touch him, you back the hell off!”

 

Natasha yanked her hand away, along with the syringe, “I need to get a blood sample! You guys can stabilize him, but it’s going to do no good if we don’t find out what’s in his system!”

 

Tony glanced at Peter who was thrashing. Rhodey and Steve were working together to strap him down with restraints on the gurney while Sam was already grabbing wires. Tony wanted them to back off. To get away. Logically, he knew they were only trying to help. _Logically_ he knew Peter was in pain and they had to work together to help him. But the primal nagging in the back of his mind, the one that said the three of them were dangerous, was biting.

 

Cold.

 

Tony stepped away from Natasha, giving her a look to proceed.

 

Steve moved out of her way once Peter was securely restrained on the gurney. He held the boy’s arm while Natasha drew the blood into the syringe and it was quick. Done. Tony sighed with relief once she rushed away to scan the sample and Steve moved aside so Tony could step forward. The only reason Tony didn’t tell Sam to scram was because he was helping Rhodey and Tony knew of his past as a pararescue.

 

As Sam and Rhodey worked to get the machines up and running, Tony reached out and grabbed Peter’s face that was moving from side to side. The teens eyes were shut, tears staining his flushed cheeks. He felt boiling to the touch and Tony forced Peter to face him. Peter’s eyes snapped open, wide, almost unseeing.

 

His pupils were dilated.

 

Rhodey began to cut Peter’s shirt off as Tony spoke, hoping to distract the child, “Peter, look at me. Can you hear me? We’re going to help you, okay? We’re going to fix this.”

 

Then Peter spoke for the first time since he had been blasted with the drug…

 

“It hurts…It _burns_ ,” He coughed through a sob.

 

“What does?” Tony asked.

 

Peter’s chest shook as Sam attached wires to the bare skin…

 

“ _Everything_!”

 

Then his eyes rolled back and the seizing started.

 

Rhodey yanked Tony away and Tony could do nothing. Could say nothing. He just stood there, his blood freezing over as he watched Sam and Rhodey turn Peter onto his side. Objects were moved, syringes were filled. Injected. And Tony could do _nothing._ It was like standing in that Siberian bunker, watching as his parents were murdered on that security footage. _Watching_ as James Buchanan Barnes stole their lives.

 

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hear.

 

Rhodey and Sam were saying things to each other. Shouting. Steve stood out of the way, much like Tony, casting a sorry stare that Tony wanted to punch. Why had Peter been with them in the first place? He wanted to strangle the super soldier until he told him. Until he admitted something that didn’t exist. Tony knew deep down that Peter had probably contacted them somehow, but it was so much easier to blame Steve. Steve was the adult. Peter was a child.

 

A child that was seizing and shaking, rolled on his side, still held by restraints, unable to turn completely over…

 

The machine that had been attached to Peter was screaming. That was all Tony could hear now. The damned machine _screeching_. And then…nothing.

 

“Defib!” He heard Wilson shout.

 

An object was rolled in. Peter was turned onto his back. Rhodey was doing _something_ that Tony couldn’t process. He pressed the plates to Peter’s chest. Peter’s body jolted. And Tony swore his did too, because his knees felt so weak he had to grab the doorframe. Everything was slow. Quiet. _Shock_. Peter jolted again. _Again_.

 

Tony wanted to stop them. Tell them to get the _hell away_ , because Peter looked _so small_. So young, _so suddenly._ Pale. His lips tinged with blue. _Shock_. And Tony almost fell. Would have, if Steve hadn’t gripped his elbow and Tony wasn’t thinking, because if he had been, he would have socked Steve right there, because Steve had known that Bucky had killed Maria Stark.

 

Now was not the time, but Tony was feeling everything all at once.

 

_Shock_.

 

Peter jolted again.

 

Tony couldn’t look away. Steve was saying something to him, but he didn’t care and he wanted to shove him away, but his limbs felt like lead. His mind raced. Peter was _dying_. Peter was _leaving_. Like everyone else. Like Maria. Howard. The team. And Tony stepped forward, yanking away from Steve as he grabbed the edge of the gurney and shouted at the top of his lungs…

 

“Kid, don’t you dare! Don’t you _dare_!”

 

He shook the gurney.

 

_Shock_.

 

Jolt.

 

Tony couldn’t even cry. He just felt angry. At himself. At Steve. At everyone who hadn’t looked out for the kid. He had promised May. He had sworn. And this kid…

 

This kid was _important_ to him. A damned treasure. Peter was something Tony couldn’t build. Couldn’t create. And yet he was everything all in one little human being.

 

He slammed his fist onto the gurney.

 

“Wake UP!”

 

Shock.

 

Jolt.

 

_Beeping_ …

 

It was music to Tony’s ears. The most magical thing he had ever heard. Maybe this was how mothers felt when they heard their child cry for the first time. Peter let out a small whimper and Tony grabbed his ankle and bowed his head. He wasn’t sure if he should thank God. Because God had been so very silent; if he even existed out there…But Tony did it anyway…Any risk of losing Peter now was too great.

 

Peter was _crying_.

 

And as pained as it sounded, Tony was happy.

 

“It’s alright, Peter,” Rhodey was speaking and Tony looked up to see him slipping an oxygen mask over the teen’s face before injecting Peter with something that Tony could only assume was pain medication.

 

“It’s alright.”

 

Peter’s eyes were bleary as Sam stepped forward to shine a light in them. Expected. His heart had just almost given out.

 

Peter still squirmed. God, the kid was resilient. _Strong_.

 

He looked so tiny.

 

Tony walked up to Peter, entering the teen’s view. Peter wasn’t really there. Not fully. But his eyes seemed to know Tony. Tears. Peter was crying and Tony put a hand on the kid’s forehead. He was afraid to break him. The touch was feather light.

 

Peter shut his eyes. Different from when they had rolled back. This was peaceful.

 

“I think we’ve got him stable,” Rhodey breathed deeply, his shoulders relaxing.

 

Tony said nothing. Just moved his eyes to Steve…

 

“What was he doing there?”

 

His voice was broken. Tony didn’t have the energy to put the anger behind it. He was shaking too much. Everything felt…weird. Like he was in the twilight zone, floating off into space. Steve sighed and answered, “He used the phone I gave you to contact us. Told us about Martin Gregory and Ross.”

 

_Ross._

_Son of a-_

Footsteps rushed in and Natasha appeared, holding a piece of paper in her hand. She held it up and announced, “I know what the drug is.”

 

…

 

Kick.

 

That’s what Natasha called it.

 

Or, more specifically, an altered version of it. A street drug that mutants used. Some to get high. Some to enhance their abilities. But this…It was different. It still held the same compounds, but they were twisted. Changed.

 

Violent.

 

Tony stood silently beside Peter’s bed, his hands in his pockets. Everyone was quiet, taking in the new-found information. Natasha finished carefully, “Most of the time…It’s harmless really, as long as the user isn’t a maniac or something. But this is so…Different.”

 

Tony didn’t care. Really. He cared about the people who had used it to hurt Peter.

 

His phone rang.

 

Hurriedly, he fished it from his pocket, pulling out the device. Ross’ name appeared. Tony had the urge to shut his hand around the phone. Shatter it into a million piece, then go get his suit and find Ross. Shatter _him_ to pieces. Kill every one of his colleagues. But Steve was giving him a look. The look he had gotten when they were still friends.

 

Tony answered, “Ross.”

 

_“Stark!”_ Ross had the nerve to sound angry. To sound like he had been wronged in some way. Tony could have laughed. It would have been bitter. Nasty. But he could have as Ross continued _, “You violated our terms!”_

“I violated our terms?” Tony’s face twisted and everyone watched him warily, “That’s funny. That’s funny because you attacked while a civilian was present. Maybe that’s not on paper, but it violates _my_ terms.”

 

Ross replied, _“You assisted three fugitives in escaping!”_

“Actually, I didn’t,” Tony snapped, “I rescued Peter, an innocent bystander, that you hurt.”

 

Tony glanced up at Wilson, Steve, and Natasha. Anger boiled within him. Hotter and hotter and it got to the point he could no longer contain it. Ross took too long to respond and Tony let out an icy laugh, causing the other occupants of the room to pale…

 

“I don’t even know where they are.”

 

He went on venomously, “But something I do know is this: You drugged _my_ kid. You almost _killed_ him. You’re going to lose your comfy seat at the top by the time I’m done with you, Ross.”

 

Tony grit out…

 

“You’re _fucked_.”

 

He hung up.

 

No one said anything until Tony ordered, “Run. All three of you. I’ll handle it from here.”

 

Natasha, Steve, and Sam all gave each other silent glances.

 

Tony said again…

 

“ _Run_.”

 

…

 

Peter came to slowly.

 

There was a tunnel. A dark tunnel, but for some reason, light was threatening to enter. Like it was held behind a curtain that Peter desperately wanted to pull back. It was choking him, around his throat and there was the sensation of fire there, then it disappeared altogether. Like a wave, taking the sand away and away and away.

 

His eyes opened.

 

Blinding.

 

Peter groaned, but something was over his mouth. Muffling. Whiteness filled his vision, a ceiling with tiles. The kind of tiles Peter used to waste time counting when he was younger and still lived with his parents in their little home. Before the popcorn ceiling at Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s apartment. Before. Before. Before.

 

His vision focused, and so did his hearing. He could make out some kind of quiet beeping, along with muffled speech. Reaching up, Peter attempted to grab whatever was covering his mouth, but a warm hand wrapped around his wrist. Peter flinched, but relaxed when a face came into view above him…

 

Tony.

 

Peter’s brows pulled together as Tony said, “Don’t touch, kid.”

 

Peter started to push onto his elbows, even though Tony was trying to get him to keep lying down. But he felt too…prone. Too unguarded lying there without being able to see the rest of the room. There was in fact movement around him as he sat up, taking in the area. A lot of it. Men in military uniforms moved around, digging through things. Along with them were other guys, in suits, standing and watching.

 

He pulled the mask off, despite Tony’s protest. The teen looked at it, confused. An oxygen mask…Why did he need…?

 

The café. The gas.

 

The burning.

 

Then nothing.

 

Peter froze at the memory, looking up at Tony. Hurriedly, Peter tried to continue to sit up, but Tony had to help him. The bed raised with the push of a button, and Peter leaned back against the pillows. He felt weak…Everything ached and he was trembling slightly, just from the exertion of sitting up. His throat was dry as he asked, “W-wha…What’s g-going on?”

 

To his surprise, Tony smoothed down Peter’s messy hair…

 

“They’re…making sure we don’t have stowaways.”

 

Something was behind Tony’s eyes. Tender touches were few and far between. Something really bad must have happened. Peter didn’t feel afraid though, more confused. Stowaways…?

 

_Oh_ …

 

Steve, Natasha, and Sam.

 

Tony’s eyes were bloodshot and Peter looked closely to try and read the man. They were in the med-wing of the Compound. Peter knew that much. He had been brought here a few times after patrols that had gone a little wrong.

 

He had been drugged.

 

Peter remembered that much at least.

 

A man in a suit appeared at the door and announced, “Alright, I think that’s quite enough snooping. I’m sure you’ve been able to decide whether or not Mr. Stark here is hiding fugitives of the law. You’re perfectly welcome to take your leave.”

 

The men in the uniforms hesitated, while several of the men in suits smirked. Everyone filed out, besides the man that had spoken. He instead approached and Tony sparked a small smile at him, greeting, “I didn’t think we’d get to see you again, Phil. Or is it Agent?”

 

Phil…Peter was confused.

 

“Yes well…” Phil hummed, “Pretend death and all. Then SHIELD falling apart and us having to staple a small portion back together. I’ve been a very busy man.”

 

His eyes found Peter’s and he held out a hand, “I’m Agent Phil Coulson. You must be Peter.”

 

Peter reached out, his limb trembling from the weakness in his muscles. He shook Phil’s hand slowly and replied in a hoarse voice, “Yep…I’m Peter.”

 

He had a lot of questions, but he was so tired…

 

Phil looked at Tony and tsked, “I assume you know that this is bad.”

 

“Well, I didn’t think it was good,” Tony answered.

 

Peter bit his tongue to keep from interrupting…

 

“Do you think Ross knows about Spider-Man?” Mr. Stark then questioned, causing Peter to tense and his jaw dropped. The way Tony had said that with such openness almost made Peter want to vomit. The heart rate monitor spiked slightly and Tony gave him a silent look. A look that said that Phil was safe.

 

Phil sighed, “No…But I think he knows that Peter is different. He was targeted by the drug, there’s no doubt in my mind. Ross must have given the order. I think he suspects Peter is enhanced…Or else he wouldn’t have drugged him.”

 

A cold sweat broke on Peter’s back…

 

He whispered towards the adults, “What are we going to do?”

 

Tony stared at him. Another look. Unreadable. Peter was so confused. Tony shook his head and spoke quietly, “You’re not going to do anything. You shouldn’t have even been there. You’re going to go back to school next week and you’re not going to be involved.”

 

Peter expected him to raise his voice…but it was so quiet. So… _hurt_. Like he had been beaten down. Peter wanted to ask what was wrong. He didn’t even feel the urge to argue because Tony sounded so…Desolate. Torn. Injured.

 

Phil interrupted Peter’s thoughts when he said, “Ross isn’t going to like you speaking out against the Accords.”

 

Tony looked back at him and what he said made Peter’s face turn pale…

 

“I don’t care. I’m going to take him to court. I’m going to fight this. And I’m going to tear him apart.”

 

His eyes found Peter’s and Peter whispered…

 

“Mr. Stark…What _happened_?”

 

Tony pushed a stray piece of Peter’s hair out of his face…

 

“Something really scary, kid.”


	9. These Children Know no Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter looked over at Tony who was staring at the television, his face unimpressed with the sit-com. Peter whispered, “Mr. Stark?”
> 
> Tony’s head snapped down at him and Peter went on, “Are you scared?”
> 
> The man’s brows pulled together, “Of what?”
> 
> “Of tomorrow…” Peter elaborated, “Of signing the papers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello pals! Got another chapter done for you. Hopefully I can get several done before next week (I work at a summer camp when I'm off school. We get a group of little ones every other weeks so I've been off. Four-year-olds!).   
> I hope you guys like this one! I'll have another author's note at the end. I didn't want it at the beginning because I didn't want to spoil anything. Love you all so much, let me know what you think :)

**Five Weeks Before**

“Kid, you gotta stop squirming and let Doctor Cho do her work.”

 

The needle pricked Peter’s finger for what felt like the millionth time as his blood was pulled into the scanner that Doctor Cho held in her hand. She was nice, but there was a deep seeded association with being _pricked_ and _her_ now that he couldn’t fight off, so maybe they would never be friends after the three days he had spent at the Compound.

 

Peter shifted in the bed, sighing as she pulled away and he pressed down on his fingertips. His eyes found Tony’s from where the man was standing beside the bed. Peter sighed, “My fingers are raw from all the poking.”

 

It had been so incessant that every time his healing closed a wound, a new one formed and they had managed to run through each finger at least three times because Tony was _adamant_ about having his blood tested every two hours. Peter watched Doctor Cho warily as she moved to the computer, hooking up the device as she seemingly ignored the conversation between the two males.

 

“We’ll wait a little longer before the next one,” Tony hummed, taking Peter’s wrist and inspecting his fingers.

 

Doctor Cho’s voice suddenly announced, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. As the test has said, three times before this, Peter’s blood is completely clear. It is my professional opinion…and don’t get me wrong…But, I think that you’re a bit over concerned. Peter should have been brought home _yesterday_.”

 

Peter knew this. He felt the hand on his wrist tighten then release as he gave Tony a triumphant ‘I told you so’ look. Peter then told the man, “Should’ve listened to me.”

 

Tony only quirked a smile, but it was forced. Peter could see. Peter had spent the past three days since Mr. Agent Phil Coulson had left trying to convince Tony that he was fine. Even Doctor Cho agreed, but Peter was still being ignored. Tony questioned, “What about his shaking? His head?”

 

“All after-effects,” Doctor Cho insisted, “He’s out of the woods. He’ll be tired for a while to come, that’s just what happens when a fifteen-year-old is drugged with a biological weapon. But, it’s nothing that you should worry too much about. Peter will be lethargic…Weak…But, _fine_.”

 

When Tony said nothing, Doctor Cho smiled softly at Peter before stepping out of the room. Tony started pacing and Peter chewed the inside of his cheek before humming, “I knew I was fine.”

 

“Yeah, I think you said that,” Tony turned to face him.

 

Peter gave an embarrassed upturn of his lips, shrugging in defense. He couldn’t understand why Tony was so worried. So pale and tired and why the dark circles under his eyes kept getting worse. Tony groaned, “Maybe I should get a second opinion.”

 

The boy’s jaw dropped and he exclaimed, “Mr. Stark! No, I’m fine, Doctor Cho has told you three times already that I’m perfectly okay!”

 

Peter put his hands on his own chest and continued, “Look, all in one piece. It’s like it never even happened.”

 

“That’s _so_ not the case,” Tony’s eyes looked haunted and Peter kept asking why. Kept wondering, but Tony wouldn’t tell him why he looked like he had seen a ghost. He always sidestepped the question like it was a ball of fire.

 

Peter nodded, “Okay…Let’s make a deal.”

 

Tony paused and Peter continued, “If…If I’m not okay, I’ll come to you. I promise. I won’t lie. If things get unbearable I’ll _tell_ you.”

 

There was consideration in the man’s features, then a tight nod. Peter held up his finger and said, “But…Don’t look at me like that, there’s always a but… _But,_ in exchange, you have to listen to me more. You know… _hear_ and _see_ me more.”

 

A flash went off behind Tony’s eyes and Peter knew he must have been remembering Peter’s explosion after leaving Carlton Correctional. Tony’s hands sunk into his pockets and he looked at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, everything but Peter. It should have been an easy ultimatum really, but nothing was ever easy with Mr. Stark.

 

Tony pursed his lips, “Alright. I’ll give it a go.”

 

"Promise?"

 

"...Promise."

 

Peter grinned widely, and he knew that when Tony returned it, it was just mimicking. That he couldn’t help but smile when Peter did and it was probably one of the most genuine smiles Peter had offered since May had died.

 

Things would get better…Things had to get better.

 

…

 

**Five Weeks After**

 

Five weeks…Five weeks had slipped by so silently, Peter felt like a rug had been yanked from underneath him.

 

He had spent most of those weeks either at school or in bed. The repercussions of the drugging had been just as Doctor Cho had said, _after-effects_ , and just the exertion of school was enough to make him need a four-hour nap after class each day, plus a full night’s rest. The back of his skull throbbed most mornings. His nerves were practically fried. He wondered everyday why there were mutants out there who took that stuff for fun, but then again, Tony had explained to him that it was a completely altered version of the drug. Not as docile.

 

He hadn’t seen Tony much…

 

The man was busy. Ross had officially decided to sue when Tony had chosen to go against the Accords. And in return, Tony had decided to counter sue. Not to mention, he was rushing the adoption process, because the trial was quickly approaching and Tony wanted to make sure _that_ entire ordeal was out of the way before the media had a chance to rip him apart. Because they would take Ross’ side. At least a majority of the media outlets. The pop-culture outlets would probably side with Tony.

 

It didn’t need explaining as to why Tony was frantic. Hovering, but also incredibly distant. He more so had people hovering over Peter, specifically Happy.

 

He still wouldn’t tell Peter exactly what had happened that night at the Compound.

 

Peter had asked. On multiple occasions. He knew it had been bad…That he had been really sick after being doused with the drug. But other than that, everything was vague. Tony’s eyes would glaze over. He’d look at Peter like a glass doll, ready to shatter at any moment. But, Peter couldn’t find it within himself to be _angry_. Not when Tony looked so terrified.

 

It was Monday night of the fifth week.

 

Peter was in the living-room of the penthouse, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table as he worked on Algebra homework. No more homebound teacher. No more after school tutoring. He had caught up in the past several weeks, and there was something relieving about that. To be back at school. Normal.

 

A laugh track sounded quietly in the background, some old sitcom playing on the television. Peter just liked it because it made things less quiet. He still hadn’t adjusted to it…The penthouse was so high up, noise could barely reach them. The apartment in Queens had been so full of life, the neighbors often shouting, hitting walls. Sometimes it was irritating, but it had been home.

 

Their apartment had been sold six days ago. Tony said a mother and her two children now lived there; the twin boys shared Peter’s old bedroom…

 

Peter was sad about it, but at least there was life there again.

 

He ignored a nagging in the back of his mind. Tomorrow would be a big day. A day that he was incredibly anxious for. His stomach twisted as he tried desperately to focus on his school work in front of him. Tried not to think about what was going to happen when he woke in the morning.

 

Tomorrow was the adoption day.

 

Peter ached with worry. It wouldn’t be bad, he knew. It was going to be at the courthouse, in front of a judge, but the lawyers had assured them that it was all just standard procedure. That if the adoption was going to be denied, it would have already. That people didn’t get this far if the answer was no. All of the nitty-gritty was over. The interviews. The house-checks. Most of the paperwork…It was over.

 

Peter wasn’t concerned about them saying no. He was concerned about what it was going to be like, to see his name on that paper.

 

To watch Tony sign it.

 

Peter let go of his pencil and groaned. He placed his arms on the coffee table and then dropped his head on top. Great. Focus gone. His head was pounding in his skull, but no medicine worked. The headache had been there since the drugging and Peter just assumed it was going to stay forever now.

 

“You okay?”

 

Peter’s head shot up, seeing Tony standing in the space between the kitchen and living room. The space where Captain America had grabbed him those weeks back. Tony was holding a mug, probably coffee if the steam was any indicator. Despite it being almost eleven p.m.

 

Nodding, Peter said, “Yeah…I’m fine.”

 

“Head hurting?” Tony walked down the short two steps onto the lower level and approached. Peter looked away, leaning back against the couch behind him. He stretched his sore legs out in front of him, under the coffee table.

 

He shrugged, “Not bad.”

 

Tony plopped down onto the opposite couch in front of Peter. He ordered, “Rate it. Is it dialed?”

 

“It’s not _bad_ …”

 

“Humor me.”

 

Peter bit the inside of his cheek and hummed, “Dialed to three.”

 

Tony made a disbelieving sound, but didn’t push the issue further. It wasn’t bordering onto a sensory overload. Not like the day after Aunt May had passed. It felt nothing like that. It felt more like when he had woken from taking those pills. A dull, ‘hang-over’ feeling. Even if he had never actually had a hang-over before. So technically Peter wasn't breaking their deal. Technically. Because it wasn't unbearable. 

 

“Didn’t know you liked _I Love Lucy_ ,” Tony’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

 

“Huh?” Peter looked at the television, “Oh…I don’t. It was just on. I like the laughing in the background.”

 

Tony made a face of disgust, “You don’t find it irritating?”

 

Peter smiled softly, “No, they sound happy.”

 

The smile fell from his lips almost immediately as he looked at the windows that lead to the terrace. The night made it possible for him to see his reflection. He always imagined himself being older. Because of Spider-Man. Death. Everything he had experienced in his short life. It made him feel old. It was always a bit startling to see his baby-face. It jolted him into the reality that he was a kid. That he wasn’t really free. Because adults existed.

 

Peter looked over at Tony who was staring at the television, his face unimpressed with the sit-com. Peter whispered, “Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony’s head snapped down at him and Peter went on, “Are you scared?”

 

The man’s brows pulled together, “Of what?”

 

“Of tomorrow…” Peter elaborated, “Of signing the papers.”

 

Maybe he wanted reassurance that he wasn’t being crazy. That his fears were completely acceptable. That Tony was scared too. But then there was another part of him that wanted Tony not to be afraid. That he would be brave for the both of them. Peter wasn’t sure which he preferred over the other, because both seemed rather selfish.

 

It was on either of the extremes.

 

He was trapped in the middle.

 

Tony didn’t answer. He seemed to move around the question, telling Peter, “You don’t have to be afraid. Everything is already taken care of. We’re just going to sign in court so the judge can witness it.”

 

“But are _you_ scared?” Peter sounded like he was pleading.

 

Tony set his coffee down onto the table and he placed his elbows on his knees…

 

“No, Peter, I’m not.”

 

Peter’s eyes casted down to his hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure anymore what answer he had wanted, but that wasn’t it. Swallowing thickly, he couldn’t look back up at the man as he muttered, “How?”

 

“Well…” Tony sighed, “Because I’ve had several weeks to come to terms with what is going to happen. I’m mostly just relieved the hard part is over. That they’re not going to take you.”

 

Peter shook his head, “It still feels so hard.”

 

At least for Peter. Even though it had been five weeks ago, his explosion towards Tony still felt fresh. They didn’t get along…The past several weeks had been so quiet. Tony wouldn’t even tell him what had happened at the Compound. How badly he had been hurt. There was something unsettling, still, about being adopted by a man who kept so many secrets. But they had agreed they would try harder. They would be more open. Tony had promised to try to listen more.

 

Tony let out a puff of air…

 

“I’m going to take care of all this. I promise.”

 

_It’s not just about Ross…_

 

Peter wanted to say.

 

_I’m scared of you ‘taking care’ of everything for the rest of my natural life._

Instead though, Peter simply responded softly, “I know.”

 

Tony stood, glancing at his watch before he rubbed the back of his neck and stared down at the teen and his homework. He said, “I’m going down to the shop for a bit… _Try_ to go to sleep in the next hour…Okay?”

 

Peter picked at his nails, “Alright.”

 

“Good.”

 

And Tony left. Peter’s ears were ringing from the laugh-track.

 

Tony was right. It was slightly irritating.

 

…

 

Pepper woke Peter the next morning.

 

He had been confused, at first. Because usually it was either FRIDAY or Tony that woke him up. But she had explained, rather rushed, that Tony was already at the courthouse, meeting new lawyers about the Accords. He was multitasking and not that Peter wanted today to be special, because he didn’t, but there was something upsetting about Tony’s divided attention.

 

He knew deep down it was necessary though. They had to get the Accords dismantled. Remove Ross’ name altogether. They had to get Ross out of the loop. Amend the Accords with someone new. Maybe then everything would start to get better. Peter hoped…Maybe even the Avengers would…repair.

 

Pepper had brought him _another_ suit. Peter had collected several since coming to live with Tony and he wondered why he couldn’t just reuse one of the ones he already had. They were constantly buying him clothes and even though the closet was large, he felt smothered by the material items shoved his way. But the one time he had tried to deny said material items, the look of disbelief Tony had given him was enough to shut Peter up.

 

Pepper was tying his tie. He still had no clue how to do it on his own.

 

“It’s going to be fine,” Pepper reassured him, standing back to inspect her work. She placed both hands on his shoulders and he relaxed a bit into the touch, “Tony will be waiting for us and everything will be official.”

 

She laughed a bit, “You should have seen the faces of social services last week when they were informed that the adoption was going to be finalized, so soon. Most of the time these things take months. Years even.”

 

When Peter only nodded she sighed, “But Tony is not a patient man.”

 

“He’s worried,” Peter provided, “That this trial with Ross will dig up dirt. That’s the only reason he rushed it this much.”

 

It was Pepper’s turn to be silent.

 

Because Peter knew that _she_ knew he was right.

 

Peter bit down on his lip, looking up at the woman. Her heels made her almost tower above him. He whispered quietly, “Ms. Potts…I can’t do this.”

 

Pepper breathed deeply and moved her hands from his shoulders, down to his hands. She squeezed both tightly before reassuring him, “Yes you can. I know it’s scary, but it’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be fine.”

 

“That’s what people keep telling me, but I’m having trouble believing it,” Peter admitted, “Things are going to be so different. What if I’m different?”

 

Making a strange expression, the woman answered, “Peter, having a different last name isn’t going to make you a different person. You’re still the same on the inside.”

 

But he wasn’t. He hadn’t been the same since May had died.

 

Pepper tugged him forward gently, “C’mon. Happy is waiting for us downstairs.”

 

He followed. Followed until they were all the way to the lobby and then outside, entering the back of the black Rolls Royce that Happy was driving. Peter’s hands shook, so he opted to grip his knees. Pepper reminded him about his seat belt. He hesitated slightly because chances were, the only thing that was going to save him from today was a trip out the window.

 

_Woah, Peter, what the hell?_

Pepper and Happy chatted and Peter felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as they pulled away from the curb. Taking it out, he looked at the screen, seeing a text from Ned…

 

**Good luck today.**

He didn’t reply.

 

Peter pretended he was anywhere else. Pretended he was in Disney World with his aunt and uncle. Pretended that he wasn’t about to forsake them by throwing away their last name. Would they be angry? To know he wasn’t going to be a Parker anymore? They had been the ones to put in the time and energy throughout his childhood. Yet Mr. Stark was going to get to tag him with his last name, after only being around a year.

 

Aunt May and Uncle Ben had gone to all of his school plays. They had been the ones to hold him after his parents died. They had been the ones who did laundry. Who calmed nightmares. Who cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Aunt May had done it alone after Uncle Ben had died. And Peter was just going to…throw that away. Have nothing left to mark that he had belonged to them. That he had been their kid.

 

The world would only see the last name Stark. He would only be Tony’s kid and that wasn’t _fair_.

 

Peter’s eyes burned.

 

He looked at Pepper again and croaked, “I can’t do this.”

 

“Peter…” She whispered, her expression sad.

 

The underlying _“You don’t have a choice”_ rung loudly.

 

Happy glanced at them in the rearview mirror and he said, “We’re going to be with you every step of the way, kiddo.”

 

Peter shut his eyes. Still, no one heard him. Still, no one saw him. He wasn’t afraid of being alone. He was afraid of betraying his aunt and uncle. Of losing them. Pepper was holding his hand, he didn’t know when she had grabbed it. The ache in the back of his skull was returning. The drugs were never going to go away.

 

When they pulled up to the courthouse, it only got worse.

 

Over fifty reporters stood out front, grouped together. Peter’s stomach turned to ice as Happy cursed under his breath and asked, “Pepper did you…?”

 

“I didn’t…It was supposed to be private,” She growled. The cameras were close to the car door, flashing, making Peter’s headache spike. He turned his head away, looking at Pepper with wide, panicked eyes. She gripped his hand tighter and asked, “You okay?”

 

Peter wanted to say no, but his head nodded on reflex. _Okay_. Always _just_ okay.

 

Happy’s door flew open and he stepped out into the sea of press, beginning to make his way to the passenger side where Peter sat. He pushed through the reporters, grabbing Peter’s door and pulling it open, reaching for the teen to step out as he kept the reporters away. Peter had trouble getting his limbs to move, almost paralyzed by the sudden chorus of voices directed towards him, cameras flashing. Recorders shoved in his direction. Happy grabbed his arm and Pepper gave him a light push, gripping his shoulder as she followed him out.

 

“Alright asshats, outta the way,” Happy snapped.

 

Peter was pulled close to the larger man’s side. Pepper still held his shoulder as they were led through the crowd. Peter kept his head low, his eyes down as not to pay attention to the questions thrown at him all at once. His eyes were burning from the lights. He felt like turning around, running away as fast as he could. But they entered the courthouse before such measures had to be taken.

 

Once inside the door, Peter stepped away from Happy, catching his breath.

 

The flashes were still flaring through the glass doors as Peter ran a hand through his hair. Happy and Pepper were saying something to each and Pepper grabbed his arm, leading him to the metal detectors. The security checked them briefly and they were allowed into the large, grand building. It smelled of cleaner, almost like a hospital. But also of old wood.

 

A door down the hall opened and Peter heard several voices. He turned his head and out stepped Tony, followed by Mr. Baldwin and several other lawyers. Tony was smiling, until he noticed Peter, Pepper, and Happy down the hall, framed by the glass windows in front of the security area. He must have noticed the press and Peter’s pale expression, because his brows pulled together and he walked towards them without excusing himself from the conversation he was having.

 

“What the hell is that?” Tony snapped, gesturing to the crowd of reporters outside, looking at Pepper.

 

Pepper sighed, “I have no idea. I never know how they get their information.”

 

Tony was chewing the inside of his cheek when he turned to Peter. He asked quietly, “Are you alright?”

 

_Nope. Hell no. Not in the slightest._

“Yeah…” Peter croaked. Not against the deal. It wasn't _unbearable_. 

 

“That why you’re shaking like a leaf?” The man raised an eyebrow.

 

He had been _shaking like a leaf_ even before he had been crowded by a sea of reporters. Peter looked down at the ground and Tony turned to Pepper, growling, “The kid doesn’t need this right now. He’s still sick. Get rid of them. I don’t care how, just do it.”

 

Pepper glared, “I can’t just get rid of them. Freedom of press exists.”

 

“This is private.”

 

“Doesn’t matter when you’re a celebrity, Tony.”

 

Peter’s head jerked upward and he insisted, “I’m _fine_. I’m really, really fine. I promise.”

 

All three adults eyed him warily. Peter shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, “It’s not like we can do anything about it. Let’s just…do this…Okay? I’m…tired.”

 

Tired and tired and tired.

 

The lawyers approached and Mr. Baldwin, unknowingly rescuing Peter, announced, “Judge Maddox is ready to see us.”

 

Maybe the rescue wasn’t as merciful as he thought. In his mind, he imagined them being in a court room, brought before someone with a powdered wig and a gavel. Instead they were brought to an office…Too small…And the judge had no powdered wig. Not even a robe. She was a woman, Beverly Maddox, wearing a normal pants suit and heels. She had curly dark hair and she smiled at Peter and the others. Peter had thought and _thought_ about this moment for weeks and this was nothing like he imagined. Judges weren’t supposed to lean against their desks and laugh with the people they were _judging_.

 

But that’s what Judge Maddox did as the lawyers laid the papers out on the table. She spoke softly to Tony and Peter as Tony signed paper after paper and Peter just stood there and _watched_. Baffled by how easily this woman was giving him up. And sure, social services had done their work. Had made sure Tony was safe, even if it had been a rushed procedure and Peter didn’t want to know how many people Tony paid for that to happen as quickly as it did. But still, it was unnerving, to watch as the adults signed him into Tony’s care, without even asking him a question.

 

Peter was not free. _Not while adults existed._

 

And he had expected to sign something. To say something. But he was barely looked at. Invisible to the whole process. Pepper kept rubbing small circles on his back, but Peter said nothing in return. It was all insane, really. Too easy. _Too easy._

 

The last paper was signed.

 

The judge looked through to make sure everything was in order.

 

She looked at Peter and gave him a genuine smile…

 

“Congratulations. You’re a Stark now.”

 

Even though her words were laced with kindness, and adoptions were _probably_ supposed to be happy occasions, Peter felt rather dizzy. He looked at Tony, Peter’s face etched with terror. What had they done? What had Tony just done? Pepper had said he would be the same on the inside, but it felt like his organs had just been stripped with bleach.

 

The lawyers were talking to the judge and Tony’s hands found Peter’s arms. His touch was unusually gentle as he whispered to the teen, “It’s okay.”

 

Peter’s voice cracked, “I’m gonna throw up.”

 

Tony gave a glance at the other occupants of the room. They were oblivious. The lawyers were too happy that they had won and would get every last penny they deserved from Tony. Tony looked into Peter’s eyes and spoke quietly, “I’ve got to stay here. I’m meeting with another set of lawyers about the trial with Ross. Pepper and Happy will take you home, alright?”

 

“I’m _gonna_ throw up,” Peter repeated, breathless.

 

Tony gave a sharp glance towards Happy and Pepper who had moved away. Happy stepped forward and grabbed Peter by the crook of his elbow. Tony ordered, “Take him out the back. I don’t want _them_ cornering him again, alright?”

 

Happy nodded and Peter felt himself being pulled out of the room. As soon as they stepped out the door, he retched, vomiting into the trashcan next to the waiting area outside of Judge Maddox’s office. Pepper gasped quietly, and Happy held him upright. He heard the office door fly open and Tony appeared in the corner of his vision.  

 

“O-oh God,” Peter pulled away from the trash can. He grabbed at his tie and tugged harshly, looking at the three adults. The cameras were clicking, flashing through the glass doors just down the hallway and it sounded so loud. The tie ripped and his fingers were so tight he couldn’t let go.

 

A janitor further away dropped a broom and cursed under his breath. The clanking resounded into Peter’s ears harshly and he cringed, grabbing at his head…Heart beats. Breathing. Loud.

 

Clicking.

 

“Peter,” Tony said, he grabbed his arms, “Rate it.”

 

Peter breathed, eyes wide, “Eleven.”

 

Tony ordered Happy harshly, “Go bring the car around back. _Now_.”

 

Peter wanted to tell Tony not to be mean to Happy. This wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his own. Pepper was on his left and then Tony on his right, tugging him through the hall, past the eyes of curious bystanders. Peter was suddenly blinded by sunlight as they entered a back alley, the smell of a dumpster nearly causing him to vomit again.

 

Happy drove up, the engine was so freaking loud.

 

Pepper climbed into the back of the car first and turned, holding out her arms. Tony was about to help Peter get inside, but Peter grabbed him blearily and gasped, “I’m sorry, I’m s-so freaking sorry. This i-is all my fault.”

 

Tony shook his head, “Kid, you’re sick. You’re still recovering. It’s not your fault.”

 

“N-not _that_ ,” Peter’s voice was becoming teary, “You signed…You signed those _papers_.”

 

Tony’s expression twisted. He grabbed Peter’s chin, his tone pained and stressed and _God_ Peter was just making it worse. Tony said fiercely, “Hey…I wanted to sign. Don’t _say_ that again. Don’t apologize about that. I _never_ want to hear that come out of your mouth again.”

 

Peter nodded in understanding.

 

He was then gently placed into the back of the vehicle, wrapped protectively into Pepper’s waiting arms. She smelled sweet, like flowers as she held him close and Tony shut the door. The car went into motion and Pepper carded her hands through Peter’s dark locks. It felt like Aunt May and if Peter shut his eyes, he could pretend it was her.

 

But he wasn’t a Parker anymore. So, Aunt May wouldn’t have any obligation to love him.

 

That was daunting.

 

…

 

It took Tony twenty minutes to calm down after Peter’s episode.

 

He had wanted desperately to go with him and Pepper, but he knew he couldn’t. The custodial lawyers would be leaving. A new set of lawyers would be coming in to meet him. His basic group, Karl Jefferson and his firm. But he also knew Karl would be bringing a few friends of his. Defense attorneys. Tony didn’t know why they would possibly be needed. It wasn’t a criminal trial, it was a lawsuit. But whatever… _Whatever_ , it wasn’t much more money to invest and the more the merrier at this point.

 

Rhodey sat next to him in the empty conference room, staring.

 

“He had a panic attack?”

 

Tony licked his lips, “Either that or a sensory overload. They’re really similar with him, sometimes I can’t tell the difference.”

 

Rhodey nodded and Tony groaned, carding a hand through his hair, “He apologized. Said he was sorry. I thought he was talking about getting sick, but he meant the damned adoption. He was apologizing to me…Because I signed the papers. Like I _had_ to sign.”

 

Rhodey sighed, “Well…I haven’t known the kid long, but I can already tell that he is incredibly quick to blame himself for things out of his control. It would make sense. He probably…thinks he’s a burden.”

 

Tony scoffed, “A burden how? Financially? I could buy the kid twenty houses. Fifty cars. He wouldn’t accept any of it, but still, I could. There’s no reason to feel like a burden, I could buy him half the city.”

 

“Maybe that’s why he feels like one,” Rhodey hummed, “Because he knows you’d do anything for him.”

 

Taking a huge sip of coffee, Tony’s face cringed. Courthouse coffee was disgusting. He then asked, “Should I make him go to a shrink?”

 

“ _Make_ him?”

 

“Yeah, he’d never do it willingly.”

 

Rhodey shook his head, “Don’t make the kid. Maybe suggest it. Get him to agree, but don’t make him.”

 

Tony didn’t get to reply before the door to the conference room opened. Karl entered first, followed by two more men that Tony vaguely remembered seeing around the firm. However, the last two men to enter were unfamiliar. One had on dark sunglasses, carrying a stick, while the other had semi-long hair, slicked back.

 

Standing, Tony held his hand out to Karl. Karl smiled and greeted, “Good to see you again, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Wish it wasn’t always under such…strenuous circumstance,” Tony hummed, “’Course, you guys probably love it. It’s how you make your living.”

 

Karl shrugged, making a face that said that he couldn’t disagree. He gestured to the four men standing to the side and introduced them, “This is Trent Shaver and Benny Greer. They’re two of my best guys at the firm. And these are the friends I was telling you about…”

 

He pointed to the man in the glasses. Tony had deducted at this point that he was blind. Karl went on, “That’s Matthew Murdock. And the other is Foggy Nelson. Usually they handle criminal cases, not really lawsuits but….Murdock here has been following the Accords since day one and really wanted in on the case. So, being the good friend I am, I gave him a call.”

 

Murdock held out a hand towards Tony and said, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

 

His voice sounded less than pleased, but Tony didn’t comment. Just simply took the extended hand and shook it back. Next, he shook Nelson’s hand, who looked about ready to burst. Tony had seen enough people like him to be able to read him like an open book.

 

Karl gestured to the chairs and suggested, “Why don’t we get started?”

 

Everyone sat. Rhodey was already jumping right into the nitty-gritty with Karl, but Tony’s attention was divided towards the man in the sunglasses. The man named Matthew Murdock, who was looking directly towards him. Maybe…Maybe Murdock wasn’t completely blind. Maybe, but then again, he had the stick and the sunglasses. Just legally blind? Could see shapes? Tony had never heard of him before. Maybe his firm really was small.

 

Tony had run through some lawyers. He was familiar with most.

 

His ears perked into Rhodey’s conversation with Karl and the other men, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Murdock turn his head as well. Rhodey said, “Well…Ross already has the upper hand. He’s the secretary and people are going to be looking at him…as that. And they’ll be looking at Tony as the guy who helped split up the Avengers.”

 

“Thanks pal,” Tony hummed.

 

Rhodey sighed, “It’s the truth. Plus, we have a thin line to walk on because he can argue Sokovia any time he wants.”

 

Tony scoffed, “Then I’ll argue the fact that he drugged Peter.”

 

A hush fell over the room. Karl knew, but it appeared the other lawyers did not. Murdock’s head tilted curiously and he questioned, “Secretary Ross drugged your child?”

 

“Yep,” Tony pushed himself to his feet and began to pace, “In the middle of the street. With some kind of drug he has been using to push his agenda that supers are dangerous and the Accords are needed.”

 

“So, your _shared_ agenda,” The Murdock-guy pressed.

 

_Okay_ , Tony decided, he didn’t like him.

 

Tony gritted out, “ _Was_ our shared agenda. You don’t drug children with biological weapons and expect everyone to be cool with it, you know?”

 

Murdock leaned forward, his elbows on the table and he asked, “And the drug effected-him? The child I mean.”

 

“Not in the way it effected the supers,” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Peter hadn’t necessarily tried to kill anyone. The drug seemed to harm him more biologically than psychologically. There was a bite in Tony’s tone, “It almost killed him. His heart stopped.”

 

Murdock pursed his lips, “So he’s not a super? A mutant?”

 

“No,” Tony snapped, before looking at Karl, “Your friend is kind of pushy.”

 

Murdock smiled crookedly, “I get that sometimes.”

 

Nelson placed a hand on his partners arm and whispered something quietly. Whatever it was, it seemed to make Murdock silent. Tony returned his attention to the other men, explaining, “ _Anyway_. I think there’s enough proof to say that Ross was planning on mass producing this chemical agent and distributing it among supers to influence the public’s opinion. It remained classified while he was testing it here and there, small enough people so that the media wouldn’t pick it up just yet. Not until he was ready. Which I deem, is a violation of the Accords. Leading to why I’m countersuing.”

 

Karl sighed, “The issue is that the evidence is circumstantial. Theories.”

 

“Except the guy we have in prison,” Rhodey provided, “We can get Martin Gregory to testify.”

 

“This trial starts in twenty-four hours,” Murdock’s voice was unnervingly passive, “And you all seem very unprepared.”

 

Tony gritted his teeth, “Yeah, well I’ve been busy.”

 

Murdock hummed quietly, “Yes I know, Stark. Very clever to rush the adoption. At least we don’t have to worry about keeping your reputation clean, that could be an issue.”

 

Shaking his head, Tony said, “Karl needs new friends.”

 

Murdock smirked, “Couldn’t agree more.”

 

…

 

That night, Peter slept. Hard.

 

He didn’t move from the bed for the rest of the day. He just laid there, while Pepper sat close. He cried for an hour, and she tried her best to talk to him. But he only dug his face deeper into the pillow. _His_ pillow. Tightened his fingers in the sheets. Felt his soul shred to pieces. He cried until he was empty. Spilled like a tub.

 

_“Peter, none of this is your fault. Tony wanted to sign those papers. Tony cares about you. He wants to take care of you.”_

Pepper’s voice had been so soft. So kind. He had wanted to listen. Had wanted to let it consume him and most of all he had wanted to believe what she was saying. But everything grey in his mind was saying it was lie. There was nothing pink or yellow or bright. It was all bleak. And the urge to scream was almost unbearable, but he settled for crying instead. Settled for falling apart, while she rubbed his back gently.

 

_I’m not a Parker anymore. I’m not a Parker anymore._

 

He fell asleep like that. He slept through the night.

 

Then suddenly, it was daylight and someone was shaking him awake. He startled, gasped. His eyes felt swollen as he sat up and held up his hands in a defensive position. Like he was about to be hurt. But instead of seeing an enemy, he saw Happy, who had jumped back in shock at the sudden movement.

 

Peter gasped, “Oh God…”

 

“Kid, I’ve been waiting in the car for ten minutes,” Happy sighed, “You’ve got school.”

 

_Spanish test._

Peter jumped out of bed and grabbed a handful of clothes before rushing into the bathroom. He changed faster that he thought possible and brushed his teeth, splashing cold water on his face. Happy grabbed him before he could rush out of the room and tried to smooth the kid’s messy hair down, but Peter grunted and pulled away, “C’mon! C’mon! I have a Spanish test!”

 

Happy groaned, but followed the frazzled teen down to the car. He bounced the entire elevator ride and the two of them loaded up. Peter was breathing heavily in the backseat, barely awake. All in all, it had taken only seven minutes to get dressed and down to the car. He adjusted his backpack at his feet, pulling out his cellphone.

 

The news was blowing up about the trial that would be starting in just an hour or two. Peter didn’t think Tony had come home that night, which wasn’t a good sign. But the trial was overshadowing the adoption and the blurry pictures of Peter’s panic attack that had been taken through the glass doors, which was nice…

 

Peter clicked his phone causing it to lock and he stared out the window. Traffic was bad, but when they pulled into the parking lot at Midtown, he wasn’t late. Peter reached for the door handle, only to be stopped when Happy turned and held out a yellow folder.

 

Taking it, the teen questioned, “What’s this?”

 

“Just paperwork you need to bring to the office,” Happy informed, “All your new information and such.”

 

Peter’s fingers tightened slightly. He nodded. Happy tried to say something else, but Peter shut the door and rushed towards the school…

 

From the moment he stepped in, he felt eyes on him.

 

It was like fire, and his senses stung. His hearing was sharp and he could make out the other teens whispering quietly about him…

 

_“He looks awful.”_

_“’Course he does, his family is dead.”_

_“Think he’s gonna inherit that whole company?”_

_“Probably, that’s what happens right? When there are no other kids?”_

_“I heard he’s secretly Stark’s biological kid and the adoption thing is all a lie.”_

_“Bullshit, they look nothing alike.”_

_“My dad says Parker was better off in the foster system.”_

Peter made a beeline for the front office just as the bell was ringing for first period. When he passed through the glass door and was free of the eyes and the speaking, he let out a sign of relief. He twiddled the folder between his fingers, debating on whether or not he should look inside…

 

Curiosity won over.

 

Peter opened the flap and slipped the papers out. Some were just things like emergency contacts, his social security number, allergy lists. But…The back page was what made Peter’s blood turn cold…

 

His _new_ birth certificate. _Amended_.

 

And he knew it was coming. Knew he would get a new one, one that had Tony’s name on it. The one in the folder was just a copy, so Peter figured there was a more official looking one somewhere, probably filed away with Tony’s things. But he had thought…Had _hoped_ , that since the adoption had only just happened yesterday, he would have more time before it became so…real.

 

_Peter Benjamin Stark._

_Peter Stark._

_Stark._

It sounded really wrong and almost vile. Foreign. Not his name. Would he have to write his name like that from now on? On his tests? When he got a driver’s license one day? His stomach clenched. It was like reading someone else’s name, not his own.

 

“Hun, can I help you?” A voice asked.

 

Peter’s head snatched up and the secretary at the desk, Ms. Miles, was looking at him. Peter swallowed thickly, approaching her slowly as he slipped the papers back into the folder. He held it out towards the woman and answered, “Y-yeah…This is my new information. I’m supposed to give it to you guys.”

 

She smiled brightly. She didn’t recognize him, which he liked. Even if he knew her name, he was glad she didn’t know his.

 

“Alright, I’ll get it to records.”

 

Peter nodded, then left.

 

He got to Spanish late, but still got to take his test. Everyone stared again, and he was thankful that his powers hadn’t given him the ability to read minds. He felt good about it when he turned it in, a solid ‘B’ at least…

 

The bell rang. Everyone filed into the hallway and Ned didn’t speak until they were outside the classroom…

 

“How’s Mr. Stark? He ready to start the trial today?”

 

Peter shrugged, “I don’t know, honestly. He…didn’t come home last night. He was probably with the lawyers, planning their ‘attack’ or whatever. He’s pissed.”

 

He licked his lips and continued, ignoring the looks of his classmates through the hallway, “I’ve pretty much been banned from asking about Ross. Whatever happened that night was really bad and Mr. Stark is…Shaken up.”

 

“But the adoption went well?”

 

_Hell...NO._

“I-it was quick,” Peter’s voice was small, “He signed and…they gave me away _so_ easily. And I know it’s probably because he paid them or something, which is totally illegal. B-but…I turned my amended birth certificate into the office this morning. It says Peter Stark on it.”

 

Ned’s eyes widened, “Dude, that’s crazy.”

 

“Yeah…” Peter whispered, “Everything is going to be different. People follow me with cameras. They stare at me. I hate it. It makes my senses go off and there’s constant clicking. I-I went to buy a sandwich a week ago, and I had to call Happy to come pick me up from the deli because the reporters wouldn’t leave. A-and for some reason Mr. Stark got mad at _me_ for going alone.”

 

Peter stopped at his locker and continued, “And it’s only going to get worse with this trial.”

 

“But you guys will win,” Ned insisted, “Ross is doing things that are illegal.”

 

Peter lowered his voice, “But so is Mr. Stark. He helped Captain America, Black Widow, _and_ Falcon. There’s no doubt that Ross is going to use that against them.”

 

Leaning his head against the cold metal, Peter tried to calm his racing heart. Ned placed a hand on his arm and asked, “Are…Are you okay?”

 

“I’m…exceptional,” Peter responded.

 

_Just internally having a heart attack._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to do a little Matt Murdock cameo. Sorry, he'll just be Matt for this story XD but hey, who knows? Maybe once this story is finished I can do a part two and include him...hmmm...   
> Anyway, hope you all enjoyed! Love ya lots x


	10. A Rose By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter didn’t ask before he left. Mistake number one.
> 
> He knew he should have, but a part of him was feeling that incessant pettiness that said “well if he won’t let you back into the shop you don’t have to ask”. So he didn’t. He just walked right out of the penthouse, rode the elevator down, and started walking to Queens.
> 
> That was mistake number two.

“His signature is on the Accords!”

 

Ross’ voice rang out through the court room. Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Dramatic. Too much. It was really unnecessary and he could feel his patience waning thin. They had been going back and forth for hours. Tony had completely lost track of time, but if his back was any indicator of how long it had been, it was _too much time wasted._

The Secretary was standing, his hands flattened onto the table in front of him with rage. His eyes were burning holes into the judge and Tony glanced at Karl and then Rhodey. Murdock was to his left, listening and Tony was irritated the man was even there. Murdock had been nothing but a thorn in his side since he had met him. The night before was spent in the conference room, living off of coffee and spite and Murdock was just irritating.

 

Sarcastic. Yet unnervingly calm. An opposite of Tony.

 

Tony was snarky, sure, but Murdock was a whole different, annoying, breed.

 

Ross’ finger pointed back at Tony as he continued, “And he violated the terms when he made contact with Captain America, a fugitive and traitor against this country!”

 

Tony scoffed and interjected, “Can I point out that the only reason I had any sort of contact with Rogers was due to the fact that Ross was attempting to drug people?”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Ross snapped.

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Is it? Because I don’t think you spending so much time in New York and that burglary at Queens Vault was just a coincidence. You got a whiff that your guys were going to be caught and tried to throw the authorities off your trail by sacrificing the guys who you hired to do your dirty work.”

 

He paused, “Buuuut, you forgot that one of the guys you hired _knows_ you and doesn’t like you very much.”

 

Ross turned to face the judge, “The person which he is speaking of is a disgruntled, former serviceman who is willing to say anything to put a mark on my reputation, Your Honor. It has nothing to do with the fact that Tony Stark breached the Accords!”

 

Tony’s face burned and he couldn’t help but snap, “When I found out you were drugging supers to make them more dangerous, I changed my mind!”

 

Murdock tilted his head back towards him, his mouth turning downward. Tony had the urge to thump him on the back of the head. Even if the guy couldn’t see him, he still felt like there would be judgement behind the glasses. Tony made eye contact with the silent judge, explaining, “I want an overhaul of the Accords. I’m not saying we should take them out of play completely, but I want to rebuild them, _without_ Ross’ involvement. Ross has taken it upon himself to deem all superhumans dangerous and I’m starting to think he’s even more of a threat than the Winter Soldier and Captain America at this point.”

 

A murmur came across the room.

 

Ross’ face turned red.

 

“Stark isn’t in his right mind,” Ross growled viciously, “He even rushed the adoption of a child because he knew there would be a risk of the child being confiscated! There’s no telling who he paid off for that to happen! He’ll say or do anything to get what he wants, just like the spoiled brat he is!”

 

Tony felt like he was on fire.

 

“Your Honor, I don’t see how my choice to adopt a kid has anything to do with this…” He made cold eye contact with Thaddeus and hissed, “Why’re you jabbing at people’s children, Ross? Still mad about the Hulk and yours?”

 

Rhodey made a choking sound, but everyone else just seemed confused. Everyone except Ross, whose knuckles were turning white. Tony forced a snarky smile and said, “I’ve given my statement. And I’ve been very clear. I want Ross out of the Accords. I want it dismantled. Surely we can come to a better alternative so that we can avoid superhumans being drugged and executed.”

 

“You’re relying on your own emotions to back up this theory of yours,” Ross turned to face Tony fully, “I had nothing to do with those events.”

 

Tony leaned back in his chair, “You’re lying through your mustache. I’ve played this game over and over, but I’ve had enough. I’m not going to watch you twist this to your gain. You should have just waited for Rogers to come around, but now none of them will.”

 

“You’re breaking the law,” Ross insisted.

 

“You broke the law when you decided to start drugging people, asshole.”

 

The gavel slammed against wood and everyone looked up at the judge. Tony noticed for the first time that the name of the plaque said ‘Margaret Braxton’. Her face was hard and cold and Tony wished that they could have gotten the nice judge that had overseen the signing of Peter’s adoption papers. She was so much better.

 

“I think that’s quite enough for today,” Judge Braxton announced, “We will adjourn until tomorrow. I suggest when you come back, you behave much more maturely. I was patient today, but I will not be as forgiving tomorrow. Especially…”

 

She peered at Tony over her glasses, “…Concerning your choice of words.”

 

The was a roar through the courtroom as journalists behind him all stood in unison. Lights began to flash and Tony stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he did so. Rhodey stepped forward and whispered in his ears, “You need to calm down.”

 

“Me?” Tony put a hand on his chest in feigned hurt, “Ross was the one blowing a gasket.”

 

Rhodey opened his mouth to reply, but they were having to move through the sea of reporters, flashing their cameras and holding out recorders. Tony flashed them his usual dazzling smile, mostly just to hide the distress he was in. This wasn’t like when he had to defend the Iron Man suit against the government. This wasn’t…funny, like that had _sort_ of been. This was incredibly difficult and convoluted.

 

Tony wasn’t a lawyer, he was an engineer. Mechanic. Whatever. He liked science, not government.

 

His movements down the small opening towards the door were stopped when a recorder was shoved much too close to his face and a small blonde woman stepped out in front of him, effectively blocking his path. At least most of the journalists had enough sense to step aside. Tony glared down at her as she asked, “Mr. Stark, is what Secretary Ross said concerning the adoption of Peter Parker true? You haven’t given an official statement on the situation yesterday and the world is wondering what you’ve got to hide.”

 

Tony wanted to grab her recorder to destroy it, but instead he snapped, “Peter isn’t a factor here. That’s enough.”

 

He shoved past her. The lawyers behind him were handling the questions, mostly. Once he was outside into the hallway, he finally felt like he could breathe a bit easier. Rhodey was next to him, but he stopped when someone grabbed his shoulder and he whirled, expecting to see another journalist, but instead he saw Matthew Murdock’s glasses.

 

Murdock spoke lowly, “Karl wants us to head to your place. He says there’s still work to do.”

 

“Well, be my guest, Murdock, but I don’t suggest you drive,” Tony humored.

 

Rhodey gave him an aghast look, but Tony was nothing if not coarse. Murdock’s mouth twitched and he hummed, “No need to be upset with him Mr. Rhodes, it’s alright to joke. Maybe with me, but I wouldn’t use that with all blind individuals.”

 

Tony looked between the men, his eyebrow raised. How had Murdock known…?

 

He didn’t get to ask. Nelson exited and Murdock turned his attention to his partner. Tony decided that was his signal to leave. He and Happy would have to swing by and pick Peter up from school and if the time on his watch was any indicator, they were already running late.

 

…

 

Peter shut his laptop after the live stream of the trial stopped rolling.

 

His eyes were burning. There had been something unnerving about the whole thing. About the journalist asking about him. About Ross bringing him up in the argument, using him against Tony. Practically calling him a result of Tony’s erratic behavior. But then again, maybe he was. Tony obviously hadn’t put much consideration into adopting him. Hadn’t even asked. Peter pushed down the anger, which he knew wasn’t healthy. It would boil over eventually if he kept fighting it down. The anger. The frustration.

 

_He took your name. He took your name. He took your name._

 

Silently, he put the laptop in his backpack next to him on the bench outside the school. Tony and Happy were late, but he wasn’t surprised, since the trial had only just adjourned for the day. There were no more students waiting to be picked up and Peter held his backpack close to his chest, resting his chin on the top.

 

His head was hurting.

 

Chewing on his thumb nail, he thought about the entire ordeal. Really, it had been his fault. If he hadn’t gotten drugged, he knew things wouldn’t be so volatile. Maybe the lawsuit would have happened anyway, because of Ross’ wrongdoings, but Tony wouldn’t be so stressed or angry about everything because it wouldn’t have been so personal. There wouldn’t be so much press irritating them all the time. There wouldn’t be so much tension.

 

The hairs on his neck stood up.

 

Peter’s back tensed, feeling like someone was running a thin blade down his spine, barely cutting into the skin. His heard whipped around towards the street, past the gates of the school that were standing wide open after parent-pick-up. He felt his heart rate spike as he scanned for the source of the danger. But the only thing he was saw was a dark SUV.

 

Sweat stuck to his back.

 

_Not a journalist,_ a voice in the back of his head insisted. Clawed.

 

_Run._

It was his sixth-sense, and his body went into motion without him really controlling it. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and broke into a run out of the school grounds and onto the sidewalk. He had to sidestep several people, occasionally moving into the street to get around large groups. But he didn’t stop running. Couldn’t. The voice in the back of his head told him this was real danger. Not a lie.

 

Real.

 

He glanced over his shoulder once.

 

The dark SUV was following.

 

Peter ran faster.

 

He considered ducking into several stores, but the panic was too much. He couldn’t breathe, like he was drowning all over again. The sixth-sense was flaring like fire, pulsing in the back of his head that had ached every day since the drugging. Peter threw himself around an old woman holding groceries, almost taking himself out with a pole.

 

Jumping into the street to avoid it, a horn honked, a dark car swerving around him.

 

Not the SUV…But a familiar Rolls Royce.

 

People gasped and Peter knew it was weird, weird to be running and to almost be flattened in the middle of the street. Hit by a car like Aunt May had been. Peter moved away just in time, only the hood clipped him slightly, but it didn’t even hurt. He held up his hands in a defensive manner as the car moved in front of his path, stopping him effectively from sprinting again.

 

The door flew open.

 

Tony.

 

He was wearing dark sunglasses, but Peter could see the shock on his face. Peter knew it looked insane. Sprinting from an SUV that didn’t even seem to be close anymore. His large-brown eyes searched the area frantically, and yet couldn’t spot the vehicle as Tony approached him. Tony looked more concerned about the bystanders watching them as he gently took hold of one of the wrists that Peter had raised in defense.

 

“Hey,” Tony whispered quietly, “What’s wrong, why’re you running?”

 

Peter couldn’t see the vehicle, but his senses were still going haywire. Like the blade was continuously cutting into his spine. He looked up at Tony, staring into the dark shades, before saying, “Someone w-was…Someone was following me.”

 

Traffic had started to build up. People were still looking concerned. Tony put a hand on the back of Peter neck and pulled him to the car, ushering him into the backseat. Peter nearly collapsed, his body aching from the sprint. His head was pounding as Tony slammed the door shut and Happy pressed the gas.

 

“Someone was _following_ you?” Tony asked, his voice barely breaking through the sound of blood rushing inside Peter’s head, “A reporter?”

 

Peter shook his head, “N-no…My senses were…Going _crazy_. Like I was in…”

 

Peril. Danger. Life or death.

 

Peter slipped off his backpack and put it on the floorboard. He gripped the fabric tightly between his trembling fingers. Tony’s hand found the back of his neck again and squeezed and Peter appreciated it, because it relieved some of the headache. Tony questioned, “Did you see their faces?”

 

The boy shook his head, “The windows were too dark. It was a black SUV.”

 

Tony ran a tired hand over his face, releasing the boy before making eye contact with Happy in the rearview mirror. The driver asked hotly, “You think Ross has people following him?”

 

Peter’s body went rigid and he sat up straight, panic in his eyes. He reached out and gripped the back of Happy’s seat, just as Tony answered, “That’s the only thing I can think of. If it wasn’t a reporter, that is, but to chase him down the street…”

 

The car suddenly felt too small. Too warm.

 

Grabbing the leather seat, Peter dug his nails in. Tony turned to look at him, brows raised in surprise. Then realization slammed into his features and he reached out, grabbing the back of Peter’s head before shoving it down. Peter hadn’t even realized he wasn’t breathing…

 

“Alright, deep breaths. Head down, _now_.”

 

…

 

Peter was grateful they had caught the panic attack early.

 

Mostly because it would have been deeply embarrassing, since when they entered the penthouse, several people were waiting. Tony had an arm around his shoulder as they walked in, despite the fact that the boy had tried to pull away. Peter took in the several people in suits, flashing him back briefly to the adoption day. His hands rung together and he studied them. Generic. Besides the one man in the dark glasses, holding a folded-up stick.

 

_Blind?_

Pepper was there too, smiling and speaking to the men, and beside her was someone Peter recognized. Doctor Cho. Peter felt betrayal rise up in him as he shot a look up at Tony who was still holding tight. Peter whispered, “I thought you said I was done with doctor appointments?”

 

“She’s just here to check on you,” Tony replied quietly enough that the other couldn’t hear. Pepper was laughing with them as Tony explained, “ _Just_ a check-up. I made the appointment before the whole ordeal in the car, so don’t look at me like that.”

 

Peter wanted to argue, but they were noticed before he could. Pepper greeted both of them, but Peter wasn’t really paying attention as she approached and kissed Tony on the cheek. Tony released him, much to his relief, and Peter continued to stare at the man with the sunglasses. There was something unnerving and Peter’s senses were twisting again, but only very quietly. Not like the blade running up his spine. Was it rude to ask someone if they were really blind? Because the man smiled, like he had noticed Peter staring.

 

Doctor Cho stepped into his vision…

 

“Hi Peter,” She smiled softly, “Nice to see you again.”

 

He wished he could say the same, but he had seen her _way_ too much over the past five weeks. She had been running tests, making sure the drug was dispelling and that his body was recuperating properly. Peter forced himself to return the smile. Small. He wrung his hands together again, _anxious_. Voices were speaking to each other. It was slightly loud.

 

Tony leaned over to him and said, “We’re going down to the workshop. Lots to discuss. Doctor Cho is just going to do a usual scan, alright?”

 

Peter looked away, but Tony knew he had heard him. Tony turned to Cho and said, “Let me know if something has changed.”

 

“Of course,” Doctor Cho responded.

 

Then the men were filing away. Pepper went with them and Peter was left alone with Doctor Cho. She gestured for him to have a seat on the stool in front of the counter. She opened a case and Peter stared ahead as she attempted to have small talk, but Peter’s mouth felt terribly dry after the whole ordeal with the SUV and the slight anger towards Tony for having her be there in the first place. His responses were limited to one-word utterances as she slipped the stethoscope under his shirt and told him to take several deep breaths.

 

She was a geneticist. But Tony had explained that she was one of the few people that knew their identities and Tony wanted to limit that as much as possible.

 

It was a routine Peter had grown used to. Having his temperature taken. His heart rate written down. Blood pressure checked. It was incredibly annoying at this point, but Tony couldn’t seem to let up on him in the slightest, even though he promised each appointment would be the last. Maybe he figured Peter would refuse to go to her lab and had sprung up the surprise visit, making sure he would be busy with lawyers so that he wouldn’t have to listen to Peter complain.

 

She pricked his finger. Peter didn’t even flinch as she looked down at the device giving her the results.

 

“Well?” Peter asked.

 

Doctor Cho smiled, “Just like the past three visits…Perfectly clear.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, “So why does he keep calling you? I mean, this has to be irritating for you as well.”

 

The boy’s brows then pulled together as he tried to reclaim his words, “N-not that I don’t like you, Doctor Cho. You’re really n-nice. But…It’s just…I don’t know…”

 

She shrugged and began to put her equipment away. Considering the words for a brief moment, Doctor Cho answered, “I think it’s the headaches really, that have him on edge. Even though I’ve assured him that they’re the result of the drug, I think he can’t differentiate between after-effects and the drug _itself_ still being in your system.”

 

Peter tilted his head and she explained further, “The drug had an underlying nerve agent. Which, like I said, is no longer in your system. But…things like that can leave lasting effects on the body. You’re still recovering, but it’s all normal. Stark just struggles with slow moving processes.”

 

Scoffing, Peter agreed, “You’re right about that.”

 

Then she was leaving. And Peter was alone.

 

He paced for a long time, wanting to go down to the shop and listen in on the conversation. But he knew that the chances of Tony allowing him to do that were slim to none. Especially not after he had freaked out in the car, and if Ross’ men were really following him, Peter felt an underlying anxiety that Tony would absolutely lose his cool at court tomorrow. So maybe it was best for Peter to stay away.

 

Eventually Pepper appeared and ordered him dinner, but she had to leave. Something about picking up papers from Stark Industries. The brief interaction was enough to bring Peter out of his anxiety and he sat at the counter, beginning to do homework and eat the Italian noodles that Pepper had gotten delivered. He kept having to read the same paragraph from his history book over and over again, because his food was distracting him and overall, he just wasn’t terribly interested. He more so wanted to know what was happening downstairs with the lawyers.

 

He really wanted to help.

 

In the past several weeks, Peter had noticed a change. Tony tried to listen more, but it wasn’t something that came naturally. And the weeks of not listening had taken its toll on Peter, so the thought of going down there was daunting. Especially after the Compound, when Tony had told him nothing would involve him.

 

Not to mention the adoption. _No one had asked_. No one had wanted to know what he thought about losing his name. They had just let him cry and expected him to get over it. Expected him to forget that he wasn’t a Parker anymore. Because that was how it worked. The adults did what they wanted and the children were supposed to roll with it until it eventually became second nature. Something left in the back of their minds. Forgotten.

 

_Give me back my name. Give it back._

 

He just felt in the way.

 

“FRIDAY?” Peter whispered, shoving a noodle into his mouth.

 

“Yes Peter?”

 

Peter bit his lip and questioned, “Did Mr. Stark really even want me? Or was he just…acting off of his ego?”

 

Ross’ words in the court house were ringing and he knew he shouldn’t let that bother him, but it had. Maybe it had all been because Tony was used to getting his way and he had just wanted to prove he could get what he wanted. Peter scratched the counter with his fingernail and wondered how he had been reduced to asking an AI whether or not Tony cared about him.

 

“Well…” FRIDAY answered, “Boss is most happy whenever he is watching you succeed, Peter.”

 

That didn’t answer his question of whether or not Tony wanted him.

 

Peter sighed, but then FRIDAY continued unexpectedly, “And he is most concerned when you are hurt or emotionally distressed. He cares for you like he cares for Ms. Potts.”

 

_Then why didn’t he ask me? Why didn’t he ask to take my name away?_

 

There was a sting behind his eyes. He missed home. He missed May. He definitely preferred things before. When Tony had simply been his mentor. The guy who helped with his suit and gave him pointers. Not a _father_. Tony wasn’t cut out to be a father, and Peter wasn’t naïve.

 

He jumped suddenly when his phone chimed in his pocket…

 

Peter pulled the device out, staring at it curiously. The notification was strange, until he remembered having hacked into Carlton Correctional Facility’s database in order to receive updates on Martin Gregory. Peter nearly dropped the cellphone when he read the words that were displayed across his screen…

 

_Prisoner 722: Martin Patrick Gregory: Suicide in cell._

_Oh shit._

 

Peter jumped up from where he was eating, a noodle flying out of his mouth and the entire carton falling to the floor. The red sauce covered his notebook as he pushed open the glass door and ran down the stairs to the shop. Hurriedly, he threw open the second set of glass doors, sliding to a stop in the room, his socks gaining no traction. Tony had set up a table near the center of the room where all of the men were sitting, discussing something. Their heads snapped to attention in Peter’s direction.

 

He held up his cellphone and announced, “Mr. Stark! Martin Gregory killed himself!”

 

A shock of silence befell the room. Tony’s face contorted. Surprise. Then a tinge of anger. Peter knew this went against the agreement. The agreement that Peter would stay away from the trial, but technically speaking he had hacked the system before said agreement was set into place. Tony stood from the table and crossed the room, approaching Peter. He noticed Rhodey standing also, and Tony shot him a glance. Rhodey nodded, pulling out his own cellphone, saying, “I’ll get confirmation.”

 

Tony then turned his attention to Peter, who was staring at him with wide eyes, still holding the cellphone up with the notification showing. Tony grabbed the teen’s wrist and pulled it down slowly, before asking, “Why are you getting notifications from their system?”

 

“I-I…” Peter started, glancing at the lawyers before whispering, “It from before…Okay? Before we made the agreement at the Compound. I promise.”

 

There must have been sauce on his chin because Tony used his palm to remove it, causing Peter to glare in annoyance. He was then dismissed with, “Go back upstairs.”

 

Peter made a disgruntled sound, “But…Mr. Stark, I know I promised to stay out of it. B-but…What are we going to do? I mean, Martin was the only witness, the other two prisoners were useless information wise-“

 

“I’ll figure it out,” Peter knew the only reason he hadn’t exploded was because he was trying to listen to Peter more, but it was new. Wasn’t second nature. He wasn’t like Aunt May who viewed him as an equal, Tony viewed him as kid.

 

“Now go.”

 

Peter opened his mouth, but Rhodey suddenly hung up the phone and announced, “Just got confirmation. Martin Gregory slit his throat a few hours ago in his cell.”

 

Tony made a face. A weird one, contorted into disbelief and rage. For a moment, Peter thought it was aimed towards him until Tony turned to face the other men. He snapped, “I’m _sure_. Of course, I mean, there’s no one on the this planet that might be worried about Martin Gregory testifying or anything-“

 

“Don’t bring your mind to that place, Stark, we can’t go there,” The man in the dark glasses interrupted.

 

Tony pointed a finger, “Hush Murdock, my patience is thin.”

 

He then faced Peter one last time and placed a hand on either of Peter’s of arms. He began to gently back him towards the exit and Peter pleaded desperately, yet hushed enough so that the men couldn’t hear him again, “Please let me help. If you’d just give me my suit, I could go check it out-“

 

“No, no, definitely not,” Tony huffed, “You’re not going near anything having to do with Ross again.”

 

He had been backed to the door and Peter breathed, “You _promised_ me you’d listen to me more.”

 

“And you told me you’d stay out of this. My promise didn’t extend to things that are too dangerous. Ross nearly killed you last time he got close. I don’t care if he threw the drug or not, he gave the order.”

 

Then Peter was pushed out the door and the glass was shut in his face.

 

He had to fight the urge to slam his fist into it, but he knew that would only escalate the situation and after all, he and Tony were trying to do _better_. After Phil had left that night, they had known things had to change. Their secrets had almost been detrimental, but Peter didn’t feel any better than he did then.

 

_No one asked me. No one asked._

 

Slowly, he climbed back up the stairs.

 

Only for his phone to chime. A text from Ned.

 

**Come build some Legos!**

What the hell? Wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

 

…

 

Peter didn’t ask before he left. Mistake number one.

 

He knew he should have, but a part of him was feeling that incessant pettiness that said “well if he won’t let you back into the shop you don’t have to ask”. So he didn’t. He just walked right out of the penthouse, rode the elevator down, and started _walking_ to Queens.

 

That was mistake number two.

 

Mistake number three was the jacket he had chosen to wear. Because it was freezing. But his good winter jacket had pretty much gotten ruined when he had been drugged. Shredded by his own freaking fingernails. He had settled for a Midtown hoodie and stuck his cold fingers deeper into the pockets, hoping he wouldn’t have to cut them off when he got to Ned’s.

 

Mistake number one and two were the biggest though. They were the ones that would bite him in the ass.

 

Peter hadn’t even been halfway to Ned’s house when it happened. When he had been crossing the street and he just couldn’t… _Couldn’t_ process the reason why he senses hadn’t warned him. Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was because his head was pounding and he was upset that Mr. Stark hadn’t listened. Maybe. Maybe.

 

The SUV whipped out in front of him so fast, he barely had time to react.

 

The back door flew open, a man in dark clothes stepping out. Peter only had enough time to let out a shout of surprise when a taser dug into the flesh of his neck and he screamed, tensing and falling into the man’s arms before being thrown into the back of the vehicle. He groaned when his face hit the floor and he found the SUV looked more like a prison transport on the inside. Two small benches lined the walls and the world was spinning as Peter was raised to sit on one. The tires squealed when they drove away.

 

Peter gasped, trying to breathe through the pain.

 

His hands were chained together, then padlocked down between his knees, attached to the metal flooring. Peter couldn’t even think. His muscles were still tensing and untensing from the taser and he knew it couldn’t have been a normal amount of voltage. There were no windows in the back and the man that was attaching Peter to the chains grabbed his face with a gloved hand and shone a flashlight in his eyes.

 

“Stay awake, kid,” He ordered, “Boss is going to want to speak to you.”

 

The man driving snapped, “Told you the taser would be too strong for someone his size.”

 

“He’s a mutant, I thought…” The man trailed off and Peter tried to look at him through his blurry vision, but it was then that Peter realized the guy had on a dark mask and helmet. So did the man in the front. Maybe special forces. That’s what it looked like. Did they know…? Did they know he was…?

 

Peter’s head lulled and the guy tapped his face.

 

“Hey, listen to me,” The guy ordered, but Peter was busy trying to steady his racing heart and grab ahold of the cloudiness in his head. Fog. It felt like a heavy haze had been dropped on him. The man continued softly, “You behave and you’ll be back with your dad in no time.”

 

_Not my dad. He didn’t ask._

It would have been a venomous, biting statement, but Peter’s throat felt like cotton. He wondered how it had gotten so bad, so _fast_ and how those three mistakes had led to _this_. Maybe not the mistake about the coat, but the others. He shouldn’t have left. Not after being followed earlier. He shouldn’t have let his frustration influence him.

 

The man reached into Peter’s pocket…Pulled out his cellphone and crushed it between his fingers. Peter felt his heart stop…This was _so_ bad…Bad…That was his lifeline. Something that could be tracked to find him. And now it was gone.

 

The drive was long. Maybe not hours, but it still felt rather consumed. Especially after Peter had managed to fight through the effects of being tasered and had regained his sense of self. The men spoke to each other occasionally, and Peter eyed the man in front of him warily, taking in the fact that he had a gun on his hip. Usually Peter would say something snarky, but there was no mask between himself and these guys. No suit. No confidence.

 

And they knew he was different.

 

Knew his face.

 

Knew _him_. Knew _Tony_.

 

Peter would have cried if it wouldn’t have been so embarrassing.

 

He tugged, testing the chains on his wrists. The man in front of him seemed to notice and said, “Don’t bother. He warned us about you.”

 

Peter bit his lip and looked down. He didn’t want to say anything. Nothing that would risk him getting into more trouble than he already was. Even if they knew who he was already, there might be more that he could accidentally give away. That he could say to endanger everyone he cared about and there were so few of those people left.

 

Then they were stopping. The brakes squealed after they had been driving on a bumpy road for several minutes. Silence overtook them until the man in front of him stood and moved to the back door, throwing it open, revealing the darkness that indicated they had indeed been driving for some time, because the sun had set.

 

A man appeared into view and Peter felt like someone had tasered him again…

 

Ross.

 

Peter’s fingers tightened around the chain and he had to fight back a sound of distress as Ross stepped into the vehicle. He was ominous. Tall. Besides his silly mustache, he was terrifying _really_ as he stared down at Peter with a passive expression. Peter’s eyes burned with terror and he averted them to the floor when Ross sat down across from him on the bench. It felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs. The same horror of being drugged.

 

“Hello Peter. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

 

The boy could only swallow thickly. Couldn’t raise his eyes. Couldn’t form a response. The horrified feeling in the pit of his stomach was too strong. Too deep and he couldn’t focus. Nothing was okay. Nothing was going to be okay because Ross was going to kill him.

 

“No need to be so afraid, kiddo.”

 

Peter lifted his head…

 

“I don’t hurt children.”

 

Peter whispered, “You killed that boy…That mutant…”

 

Ross hummed in response, “That was…unfortunate.”

 

He then added, “Just like the incident involving you.”

 

And Peter knew it was a lie. A lie the man was concocting to mess with his head. So he said nothing. Pretended to hear _nothing_ as Ross explained, “I’m sure you’re very worried at the moment, but I want to assure you that I only brought you here to talk. You see, I’ve known about you for some time now…”

 

Peter’s chest constricted…

 

“You’re a mutant, no shame in it,” Ross didn’t sound convincing, but Peter was slightly relieved that Ross didn’t seem to know about Spider-Man, “Some of the bravest men in this country are mutants. And typically, I would avoid bringing a child into something as messy as a lawsuit, but because of Stark, I’ve been left with little choice. He only cares for a select few things and unfortunately for you…You’re one of those things.”

 

Peter’s eyes were watering…he gripped the chain tighter. Tony didn’t really care because _he hadn’t asked_.

 

“Peter, I need…a rather tedious favor from you. You see, up until now we’ve kept your name off the watch list. Mostly because I needed Stark’s support with the Accords and I didn’t want to risk pissing him off more. But, at this point, it has become dire. I need you to convince your ‘father’ to… _reconsider_ his decision to dismantle the Accords. Or else…I may be forced to add your name.”

 

_Not my father._

“I don’t know w-what you’re talking about,” Peter said.

 

He jumped when the chains were grabbed and his wrists were yanked forward. Ross pulled out a pocket knife, causing Peter’s senses to burn. _Danger_. The blade dug deeply into the palm of his left hand and Peter hissed in pain as the skin broke and blood began to pool around the metal. Deeper and deeper, and Peter finally relented to using his superior strength to yank his limb away, no longer able to stand the pain.

 

Peter stared down at the wound, the crimson dripping onto the floor.

 

He looked up at Ross in shock as the Secretary hummed, “After our conversation is finished, we’ll see if you’re lying.”

 

The boy bit down on his tongue, feeling the warm blood trickle through his fingers. It stung as Ross smiled slightly and leaned forward, much too casually. Like a grandfather having a comfortable conversation with his grandchild. Peter leaned away, his head hitting the metal wall behind him as Ross spoke softly…

 

“I’ve read up on you. Well behaved. Good grades. Very, very smart. It’s no wonder Stark took an interest in you, which like I said, is unfortunate. He enjoys collecting things, building things. I do worry…What he’ll do if he becomes bored of you but…Too late now, right? He already signed those papers.”

 

Peter grit his teeth, “You d-don’t know him.”

 

“Oh, I do…All too well,” Ross sighed, “Egotistical. Power hungry. Controlling. He’s his father reincarnated. It’s a wonder he doesn’t beat you…Unless he does.”

 

Glaring, Peter croaked, “Mr. Stark is _good_. Unlike you. H-he cares. He tries to d-do better but all you’re doing is h…hurting people. Just because they’re different. You’re hateful a-and a tyrant and _cruel_.”

 

Ross was silent. He stared at a place behind Peter’s head. For a moment, Peter worried he was about to snap. Beat him to a pulp. But instead an amused smile stretched across his features, something that made Peter’s stomach twist with fear.

 

Ross held out his hands, “Like I said, I try not to kill children. I have a daughter of my own. Do you know how many children Stark’s weapons have killed in the past? Probably before you were even born?”

 

Peter remained silent as Ross finished, “He won’t make a good father, Peter. I hate to break it to you.”

 

Biting his tongue so hard it bled, Peter whispered, “He could be worse. He could be _you_.”

 

_But he didn't ask._

 

Ross only hummed, reaching out and grabbing Peter by the wrist. He pulled his hand forward enough to look at the wound he had inflicted a few minutes prior. Forcing Peter’s palm open, it was clear the wound was already trying to heal. And Peter wanted to curse…If it had been several weeks ago, nothing would have been different…But now with his healing back up to par, the wound was already in the process of clotting and scabbing.

 

There was a glance. And then Ross was pulling his hand back so far, it caused the wound to reopen and bleed again. Peter groaned in pain, gasping until Ross finally let him go and stood, stomping towards the door. He swung it open, both men from earlier standing outside in the darkness.

 

He ordered coldly, “Get on with it.”

 

One of the men jumped into the back of the vehicle and began to unhook the padlock holding Peter to the chain. As soon as he was free, Peter attempted to squirm away, only for the taser from earlier to make another appearance, stabbing him in the neck again. Peter’s body went rigid, slamming into the metal floor, flailing until the electricity stopped flowing.

 

The man grabbed him and threw him out the back, Peter’s face hitting a dirt road sharply, rocks cutting into his cheek. The other man that had been driving suddenly slammed a boot into the teen’s side, causing Peter to groan. Another boot. Another kick. Another punch. Both men were definitely hitting him now and Peter curled into a ball, trying to cover his middle and his head as the blows continued.

 

One grabbed him by the hair, yanking him up. Peter screamed as a fist collided with his cheek, sending him back down into the dry rocks. He curled back up, the beating continuing, his ribs screaming in pain and he knew at least a few had to be bruised or fractured.

 

And then…It _stopped_.

 

Engines started…

 

Drove away.

 

The sound of bugs…Which was weird to hear.

 

Peter laid still in the darkness and he noticed that when he looked up, he could see the stars. He spat blood out onto the front of his shirt, unable to sit up. He just wanted to lie there. Take a moment on the dirt road. Black dots covered his vision, but the ache in his cheek was nothing compared to the hurt that was inside his ribs and burning from the cut on his palm.

 

He hoped his face was okay, because had an Algebra test in the morning and there was _no way_ in hell he was going to let himself fall behind again.

 

He was _going_ to freaking school in the morning. Screw Ross.

 

Peter groaned, beginning to push himself into a sitting position. He gasped when pain shot up his back and chest, but he managed to look up. They really must have driven him somewhere secluded, because off in the distance he could see the lights of the city.

 

Cellphone gone.

 

He would have to start walking eventually.

 

Peter laughed bitterly to himself. Of course, _he_ would be the one to be punished for all of this.

 

_He hadn’t asked. No one had asked._

_I want my name back. I want my name back. I want my name back._  


	11. A Prince Born of Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should tell your ‘dad’ maybe he should focus a little more on learning to parent a loser than getting involved in politics.”
> 
> Peter didn’t know what happened.
> 
> One second, he was heading towards the exit of the cafeteria, Ned beside him.
> 
> The next he was whirling around, his fist making contact with Flash’s nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put a note at the beginning of the last chapter. I was in such a rush to post it! I just wanted to thank you all again for reading this and leaving such wonderful responses. It really makes me so happy to know you are enjoying it and that I don't completely annoy you all with my incessant updates. I hope you guys like this chapter! Let me know what you think. I should have the next chapter up in about two or three days (which is a bit off for me), since I've got work this week. Hopefully it won't take long. Enjoy! Love you all! <3

It took Peter six hours to get home.

 

_Six_. _Hours_.

 

Most of that was walking, until he found a nice man who let Peter ride in the back of his truck for several more miles. But most of the trip had to be on foot. His body aching. His ribs screaming with each intake of breath. The inside of his mouth had stopped bleeding and he was surprised he hadn’t lost a tooth in the beating. He wanted nothing more than to shower, get into bed, and not move until school the next day.

 

It was two in the morning when he approached the penthouse, peering up at the light above. A part of him dreaded going inside. Having to explain the entire situation. Having to explain why he had left in the first place. Because he was going to build freaking Legos. Legos! Ned was probably having a heart attack at this point and Peter had no phone to reassure him that he was alive.

 

Peter walked into the lobby, pulling his hood over his head to hide his wounds from the people mulling around in the depths of the night. He took the elevator up, staring at his hooded reflection in the glass. His cheek was cut from the rocks, bruised and swollen. But other than that, his face was exceptional. Maybe he could go to school tomorrow after all.

 

All too soon the elevator dinged and he stepped out.

 

The first sight he was met with was a very frazzled looking Pepper.

 

“Oh my God!”

 

Peter flinched at her tone and looked down at the ground as she approached hurriedly. Gently, she took him by the arms, pulling him into the light of the kitchen. She pushed his hood back, grabbing his chin to inspect his purple face. Peter whispered, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

 

“Peter,” Pepper breathed, her voice unsteady, and Peter was going to freak out if she freaked out, “What happened? W…No, let me call Tony. He put on that suit and has been flying around for hours…Let me call him.”

 

She stepped away and pulled out her cellphone. Peter looked down at his palm. The wound was still open, but slowly trying to scab. His hand was stained with blood though and it was dried under his fingernails. Carefully, he moved to the kitchen sink, ignoring Pepper’s murmuring on the phone to Tony. He was too exhausted to even be worried anymore.

 

The warm water felt nice on the wound, and only stung a few moments.

 

Peter knew when Pepper was done with the phone call, because he could hear her footsteps hurrying back into the kitchen. She moved around the counter and towards the sink, observing him as he cleaned the wound. At a loss. She was at a loss and Peter wanted to reassure her that he was alright, but he didn’t know how.

 

Pepper grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped a handful of ice into it before handing it to Peter. He pretended it didn’t make him think of Aunt May comforting him after the black eye he had received in Germany. Pepper watched him press the towel to his face before she whispered, “Peter, what happened? Where have you been? Tony and I…We tried calling you and…”

 

He knew she was trying not to get upset with him, because Tony was bound to do it enough for the both of them. Peter leaned against the counter, feeling a bit weak as he attempted to find the words. Really, what had even happened? He had been grabbed off the street. Threatened by Ross. And beaten by Ross’ guys. Painful, yes. Terrifying…More yes. Peter’s anxiety was through the roof, only dulled by the overwhelming need to lie down and the pain that was radiating with each breath.

 

Peter’s voice cracked, “It was… _bad_ , Ms. Potts.”

 

She was going to say something else. Ask more questions. But the sound of metal landing on the terrace broke her focus. She and Peter both snapped their heads in the direction of the glass door in the living room. The glow of the Iron Man suit opening shone through and then the door opened, showing an unsuited Tony, warped in all of his angry glory.

 

Peter lowered the ice pack and moved around the counter, just as a defense measure. Because even if Tony had promised to listen more, the face he was making was not that of a man that was willing to listen. Pepper looked between them and as Tony approached, she stepped forward, holding out a hand, sending a glare towards Tony.

 

“Don’t,” Pepper snapped, “If you raise your voice at him, Tony, I swear to God I’ll kick your ass.”

 

Peter would have laughed if his face didn’t hurt so much.

 

Tony eyed him around Pepper. And sure, he looked angry, but more surprised at Pepper’s actions. He responded to the woman, “I’m not going to yell at him. I’m trying to see why the hell he looks like he went six rounds with Mike Tyson.”

 

“Nothing like that,” Peter muttered, “That would have been a relatively fair fight.”

 

Tony kept his distance, because Pepper wouldn’t let him move closer. Peter sighed as the eyes in the room were all aimed on his swollen cheek. Tony’s arms crossed over his chest, and Peter knew he wanted to explode, but wasn’t going to risk making Pepper explode as well. He was holding back, and silence was reigning. Peter put the ice back onto his face and sighed.

 

“Well?” Tony all but growled, “What happened? Where the _hell_ did you go? And why do you look like that?”

 

Peter wanted to cry. Wanted to cry because he had just been kidnapped and beaten, but for some reason it felt like he was being blamed for the entire ordeal. He was trembling as he shut his eyes, using the dishtowel and ice to hide his face a bit from the adults. It had been scary. Sitting in front of Ross like that, being threatened. It had been like sitting in that car with Toomes.

 

“Peter…” Pepper’s voice spoke softly.

 

Peter dropped the dishtowel, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he insisted, “I’m okay. I-I’m good. I just…I’m really hurting right now.”

 

And he was. His chest was on fire from standing so long. From the kicks to his stomach and ribs. Both adults made a move to approach him, but he stepped away, furthering himself behind the counter as he wrapped his arms around his middle in a protective sort of way. A wave of emotion hit him. Maybe the shock of the whole experience was wearing off.

 

Tony said something this time, asking, “What happened, Peter?”

 

It was unusually gentle and he didn’t even sound angry anymore. Maybe because Peter wouldn’t let them get close enough to touch, so they had to talk to him like a wounded animal. Maybe because of his promise to listen more. Peter wasn’t sure.

 

“Um,” Peter looked up at the ceiling, trying not to cry as his voice trembled and a knot formed in his throat, “I…I was going to Ned’s and some guys…Pulled me into the b-back of a SUV…and then Ross showed up…”

 

He could see both visibly tense as Peter continued, “And y…yeah, I mean. They beat the shit outta me. And left me…in the middle of nowhere…and…Ross said if I-I don’t convince you to back the Accords again…I’m gonna end up on some…Watch list?”

 

The pitch in his voice wavered on the last bit. He exchanged his eyes from the ceiling to the floor as Tony moved around the counter. Peter didn’t try to back away this time, as Tony approached like a man trying not to startle a deer. Once he was in arms reach, he grabbed the hem of Peter’s shirt and lifted.

 

The bruises were ugly and Peter wondered how bad they were six hours ago. Pepper exclaimed, but Peter simply grabbed his shirt and yanked it down from Tony’s grasp. Peter moved away a bit, but Tony only stepped forward too and Peter breathed slowly, “Yeah…It sucked. It really…Like _sucked_ …”

 

He stared at Tony, who looked angry. But he was saying nothing and Peter couldn’t read what he was about to do. Peter swallowed thickly and whispered, “They broke my phone. C-can I use yours? To text Ned that I’m okay.”

 

Tony said nothing as he fished it out of his pocket and handed it over to the teen. Peter was grateful for the distraction, but his fingers were shaking so much he could barely send the “I’m okay” text to his friend. When he looked up again, Tony was pacing and Pepper was trying to say something to him.

 

“I’m going to kill him,” When Tony uttered that, Peter felt like ice. Pepper put a hand on his arm to stop him from pacing as he continued, “He’s dead.”

 

Peter moved around the counter as Pepper said, “No, you’re not. We…We can call the police. I mean, surely even Ross isn’t above the repercussions for kidnapping a child.”

 

Tony shouted in return, “And tell the police what?! That Ross kidnapped and threatened to put Peter on a watch list for being a superhuman?! That’ll go over really well!”

 

Approaching the pair, Peter held out a hand and tried to intervene, “Please…Please, listen. Don’t do anything. Mr. Stark, _please_.”

 

But the man was already moving towards the suit outside on the terrace, despite Pepper tugging on his arm. Peter felt his heart rate spike in his chest as he rushed forward, putting himself between Tony and the door. He peered up at the man, trying desperately to make Tony look down at him. Peter held up his hands, his eyes burning with tears for what felt like the millionth time…

 

His voice came out small, desperate, “If you kill him I’ll be alone again. Please… _Please_ don’t go. Don’t…don’t…I don’t want you to _go_.”

 

Peter lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the man’s chest and around his back. Maybe it was low. Preying on the man’s emotions, but right now Tony wasn’t thinking and he was going to do something dumb, because Peter had been stupid enough to leave the penthouse. He squeezed, praying Tony wouldn’t push him away. Praying Tony wouldn’t climb back into the suit that was out on the terrace. Praying he wouldn’t be the next person to leave forever…

 

Tony was tense. For a long, long moment he was unmoving and Peter knew this was one of the only hugs they had ever shared. The one after May’s funeral had been…Not real. It had been the result of panic. The result of needing to be brought back to reality. But Peter tried to make this one genuine, despite the physical protest from an angry Mr. Stark. He _tried_. Because he knew he couldn’t lose another person. He wouldn’t be able to survive it. It would kill him…Even if this was the person who had stolen his last name from him without a second thought, he was one of the only people Peter had left to grasp onto.

 

Much to his relief and surprise, Tony wrapped an arm around his back and a hand pressed to the back of Peter’s head.

 

Peter squeezed only a fraction tighter with pure joy. Joy that Mr. Stark was no longer moving towards the terrace. Joy that he wouldn’t go to jail for _murder_. And when Tony’s shoulders relaxed, Peter knew that for the moment, _just_ the moment, that everything was going to be okay. Because Tony was still here and Pepper didn’t look so scared anymore.

 

Peter just kept whispering, “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

 

It was like a chant. To make Tony stay.

 

Tony was the first to pull away, gripping Peter’s arms tightly. Peter’s eyes were on the floor between them, but Tony was trying to find his gaze as he said, “Listen to me.”

 

Peter looked up and Tony explained, “Either me or Happy goes with you everywhere from now on, understand? Everywhere. Until this stuff with Ross is figured out. Until this damn trial is _over_. You make sure you have someone with you, always.”

 

It sounded smothering. Sounded…unfun. Sounded like everything Peter hated, but he nodded his head anyway, willing to agree to anything to make sure Tony didn’t go away. Tony hooked an arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him close one last time, ordering, “Go get ready for bed.”

 

Peter nodded silently to that too, and as soon as he was released he retreated to his room, desperate for a shower. Desperate to wash the dried blood off. Desperate to sleep.

 

The crimson swirled in the water-drain and Peter had to look away.

 

His ribs were dark, the cuts on his cheek healing, but bruised.

 

Tony gave him pain medicine. The kind that worked. The kind that was only for emergencies. The kind that Peter wasn’t allowed to give himself.

 

And Peter slept: Tony leaning against the doorframe until the boy’s breathing evened out.

 

…

 

Peter dreamed of feet slamming into his sides and bullets in his legs.

 

They weren’t extremely vivid nightmares. Feelings mostly. Fear and pain all etched into the same photo. Like he was experiencing it all in a moment. A split second. Just enough to get the point across. The imaginary pain disappeared though, replaced with the tangible one that was the result of wounds from the night before.

 

FRIDAY’s morning alarm was going off and Peter groaned groggily, rolling onto his back to glare at the ceiling. He still hurt, but not nearly as bad as the night before. The pain wasn’t so blinding when he breathed and he was thankful he wouldn’t have to try to take his Algebra test while holding his breath.

 

He called upward, “I’m awake, FRIDAY.”

 

The alarm shut off, replaced with the AI’s voice saying, “Good morning, Peter.”

 

“Morning,” Peter hummed. He laid flat a few more minutes, just contemplating on whether or not he really wanted to take this Algebra test. Then he remembered the anger from the night before. The defiance as he had been thrown onto that dirt road. _Screw Ross_. He was going to take his test and he was going to get an ‘A’.

 

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Peter hissed quietly and grabbed at his side where most of the pain was radiating. He moved to the edge of the bed, sliding his legs off as he took several deep breaths. He inspected his left hand. The cut was still there, scabbing slowly.

 

Peter crawled through the mundane morning rituals, settling on a blue sweater and the last of his jackets that wasn’t torn or covered in blood. He stared at his face for a long time in the mirror. The cuts had mostly healed, leaving behind a fading bruise. He was thankful that his healing was back to normal, because he knew that if it had been bad enough, Tony wouldn’t have let him go to school.

 

He didn’t expect to find the man in the kitchen.

 

So much time had been invested into the trial, Peter thought he’d be at the court house already, getting ready for another day or arguments. However, Tony was sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and stabbing an omelet with his fork. Peter approached slowly, and Tony didn’t notice him until he was standing almost directly beside him, causing his head to snap up.

 

Tony probably hadn’t slept. That would make two days. No wonder Tony hadn’t noticed him.

 

Maybe Tony noticed how Peter was holding his backpack gingerly on only one shoulder to avoid hurting his ribs. Maybe it was the fading bruise on his face. But even more life seemed to suck out of Tony in that instant. Peter was picking at the cut on his palm, causing Tony to grab his wrist and tug his hand away.

 

“Wrap it…Please.”

 

The please was added to soften the order. Tony then added, “There’s an omelet on the stove for you.”

 

Peter nodded, moving to the cabinet that he knew held the emergency kit. He had been in such a rush the night before to go to sleep, he hadn’t even thought about properly wrapping the wound. He opened the case, wrapping a bandage around his hand several times before taping it into place.

 

He then turned his attention to the omelet that was lying in the cooling frying-pan.

 

“You make this?” Peter tried to smile, turning his head to his mentor.

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Problem?”

 

Peter laughed, “Not a huge problem. I just don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything you’ve cooked before.”

 

He put the food on a plate and took a bite. It wasn’t bad at all, even with the slight burn on the edges. It was comforting, not to have some fancy take-out that was perfectly cooked. It reminded him of being with May. Eating the recipes she would try out and beg him to taste. Then it would be awful and they would order pizza.

 

He sat down on the barstool beside Tony. Peter could feel the eyes on him, or more so his face. Tony was grinding his teeth and Peter knew he wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to ask what that something was.

 

“Maybe you should stay home today.”

 

Peter paused. Swallowing a bite of his food, he said, “I’ve got a math test.”

 

“I can get you a doctor’s excuse, you can make it up.”

 

Shaking his head, Peter argued, “Mr. Stark…I don’t…”

 

Taking in a gulp of air, he huffed, “I don’t want Ross to win. I _want_ to go to school today.”

 

Tony’s expression said that with everything within him, he didn’t want Peter to go to school. He didn’t want Peter to even leave the penthouse. But he was trying…Trying to listen. Trying to do better. Peter slowly turned in his seat to face the man before him and he folded his hands together.

 

“I’m okay.”

 

Tony scoffed. Bitter. Not at Peter but at the world, and Peter knew this. But he still shrunk into his seat. Made himself smaller. Chewing on the words he wanted to say next, but Tony beat him to the punch, saying, “I don’t believe you.”

 

Peter groaned, “We made a deal that if things got unbearable I’d tell you. And I’m not backing out of the deal. So, _listen_ to me when I say that I’m okay. I know I was upset last night, but I feel a lot better today.”

 

“It’s not just about being physically okay,” Tony said, “Ross got guys to grab you and beat you. And maybe…Maybe you’re tougher than me, kid, cause I’m struggling with that reality. Struggling with the thought of them hurting you like that and just getting away with it.”

 

Biting down on his lower lip, Peter whispered, “They’re not going to. Because you’re going to win the case and Ross is going to be punished. The _right_ way.”

 

Tony stared. Stared and stared for what felt like forever. Until he raised his hand and placed it on top of Peter head. Peter’s brows furrowed and Tony sighed, “It’s like you went to bed fifteen and woke up thirty.”

 

Peter smiled.

 

“Really?” He asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

 

Tony gave his head a soft pat before removing his hand, “Don’t get too excited. You’ve still got school, I suppose, if you really don’t want to stay home. You’re a weird kid, you know? I loved getting to stay home from school.”

 

Peter shrugged, “Ned doesn’t fair well without me there.”

 

“Rhodey never did either. But he’d say it was other way around.”

 

…

 

It was hard for Tony to leave Peter at school.

 

The moment the teen climbed out of the back seat and trotted towards the building, Tony turned his head and stared at Happy in the rearview mirror. Tony put on his sunglasses and ordered, “Don’t say a word.”

 

“Wasn’t going to,” Happy responded.

 

Tony scoffed, “I can practically see the judgement melting out of your ears.”

 

“I just don’t think he should be going today.”

 

“Neither do I, but he wanted to, and I’m trying to listen to him more.”

 

There was no response. They pulled away from the curb when an angry soccer mom honked from behind them to move along in the drop-off line. Happy flipped her off through the window and Tony rolled his eyes, looking out the glass as they pulled into morning traffic towards the courthouse. He had told the lawyers that he had a family emergency and to proceed with the morning meetings without him. Waking up that morning, Tony just couldn’t bring himself to leave the penthouse. Couldn’t walk out the door.

 

He and Pepper had taken turns checking on him through the night. Making sure he was alright. Breathing. Tony wondered, if they had decided to have children, if that’s what it would have been like.

 

But it felt wrong to leave that morning. So, he had stayed.

 

There was a thought nagging in the back of Tony’s skull. He would have to look at Ross today. Look at him and not kill him. He had felt slightly guilty for the panic he had caused the kid. The blur of rage had smothered him, slowly creeping into his skin as Peter had texted his friend that he was alright. Even though he knew logically he couldn’t just go murder Ross, a part of him had wondered if he could.

 

When they arrived at the courthouse, Tony found that the press hadn’t let up in the slightest. Happy asked briefly if he wanted to go in the back, but Tony knew better. Knew that the press would have that area guarded as well, especially after they had used it to sneak Peter out on the adoption day.

 

Tony didn’t wait for Happy to open the door for him, he swung it open, nearly taking out four reporters in the process. He stepped out, not reacting in the slightest to the questions that were thrown his way. He had adjusted to all of it a long time ago, early on in his childhood. Tony wondered if Peter ever would.

 

He pushed that thought aside, moving through the sea of people as Happy drove away to park the car.

 

The moment Tony stepped into the lobby and through security, he was met by Rhodey. The man smiled, unaware. Unaware of the events that had taken place the night before. The events that had Tony ready to yank his own hair out of his head with rage. People lined the walls, waiting to enter the courtroom. Tony could see his own lawyers in the distance.

 

As soon as Rhodey met Tony’s eyes, his face dropped.

 

“What?”

 

Tony set his jaw.

 

He was about to explain, when he saw him. Saw Ross, walking down the hallway. He was speaking to one of his own lawyers, before Ross made a slight turn into the men’s restroom. Tony’s feet moved without his permission, despite Rhodey calling after him. Tony glanced over his shoulder and snapped, “I’ll be right back.”

 

Then he too turned into the restroom.

 

It was surprisingly empty, and it was almost as if Ross was waiting for him, because the man was staring at himself in the mirror, a blank expression on his face. He looked at Tony in the reflection, and raised an eyebrow.

 

Tony could have punched him. Strangled him for daring to look so…noncaring.

 

Like beating the shit out of Peter had been chump-work.

 

“Well?” Ross hummed, “Say it.”

 

Tony stalked forward. He put a hand on the counter, but didn’t touch Ross because he knew if he put his hands on him, he’d murder him. Right there in the restroom of the courthouse. And there was no sense in that. No sense in putting Peter through any more pain than he had already endured. Leaving him alone so that there would be no one left to protect him.

 

His voice came out icily…Calmer than he expected from himself…

 

“You stay the hell away from that kid.”

 

Ross looked down at him. Studied him. Tony wasn’t showing his rage, but maybe Ross could see through his exterior. Ross spoke like it was some kind of business deal, “I thought the children of public figures were fair game. Didn’t stop you in the court room from mentioning my daughter’s former relationship with Banner.”

 

Tony snarled, laughed even, but it was twisted, “That’s a far cry from kidnapping a teenager and having your guys beat him. To go as far as threatening to put him on a watch list and instigate paranoia out of him. Are you really that sadistic?”

 

“You need incentive to back the Accords,” Ross shrugged, “Withdraw your countersuit. Convince Steve Rogers to turn himself and his cronies over.”

 

Rage. Tony and Steve didn’t even speak anymore. The ordeal outside of the café and at the Compound had been an attempt to save Peter’s life. Peter had been the one to call them and Tony in no way trusted Steve any more than he did that night that Steve showed up inside his penthouse. Not to mention, he didn’t know where Steve, Natasha, Wanda, or Sam were. Why Wanda hadn’t been with them. He didn’t care to know. It wasn’t a priority right now.

 

“I don’t make deals with guys who terrorize children,” Tony’s was cruel and odd and maybe, _maybe_ he was the sadistic one, “And that’s exactly what you’re doing. Striking terror into a fifteen-year-old _kid_ that isn’t involved with this in the slightest. This is between you and me.”

 

Ross grinned…

 

“I think we both know that boy isn’t _just_ a child. He’s a mutant. A _freak_. Just like the others.”

 

Tony stepped forward. His fist taut and ready to strike a blow into Ross’ smug face. However, he was stopped when a stick separated the two of them and Tony was grabbed by his arm, and pulled back. He whirled, looking at who had stopped the attack, only to see Murdock’s glasses staring back at him. His hand was gripping Tony tightly, walking stick keeping the men apart.

 

Tony blinked in surprise as Murdock spoke calmly, “I think it’s time to go into the courtroom, gentlemen.”

 

Ross cleared his throat and straightened his tie before he turned and exited the restroom. Tony yanked away from Murdock and ran his hands through his hair, taking in several gulps of air. The anger was sinking in too deep. He wanted to explode, and Murdock’s blank expression wasn’t helping at all. If anything, it made him angrier.

 

“Don’t do this,” Murdock said.

 

Tony glared, even though the other man couldn’t see it, it helped. Snapping, Tony replied, “I don’t think we’re acquainted enough for me to receive a lecture from you quite yet, Murdock. You might want to just tattle on me to Rhodey. He has special permission to kick my ass when needed.”

 

“Just…pretend you’re a normal human being for _one_ second, Stark,” Murdock sounded frustrated, but he was shoving it down, “Pretend that you did what you really wanted to do to Ross. Pretend you got rightfully punished for it. Then what? It does not _do_ to be a protector or provider if your actions leave your child alone in the world.”

 

There was some kind of knowing behind Murdock’s words. Some kind of pain and Tony felt slightly startled out of his rage and into that of bewilderment. Murdock stepped to the side and gestured to the door, “Shall we?”

 

Tony nodded, realized Murdock couldn’t see him, so settled for walking to the door instead.

 

Screw Murdock.

 

…

 

Something thick hung in the air of the courtroom.

 

Currently, Tony and Ross were not speaking. No one was. Karl was standing, and so was Ross’ lawyer. Judge Braxton sat staring at the men. She didn’t want to be there, Tony could tell. The display the day before had been dramatic and probably not the way things were supposed to be handled in a court room. She had her hands folded in front of her.

 

“I was informed that your witness, Martin Gregory, committed suicide last night in his prison cell.”

 

Karl cleared his throat, “Yes…That’s the story, Your Honor.”

 

“Well…” She leaned forward a bit and sighed, “We were going to proceed with his testimony, but because of the terrible circumstances I believe we must move forward with the case.”

 

Murdock stood suddenly, causing Tony to jump in surprise. The man had yet to say anything in the court room. Not even the other lawyers had spoken yet, but from the smile on Foggy Nelson’s face, Tony got the idea what whatever Murdock was about to say was going to be really good or really mortifying. Tony hoped it was the first. Because the day had been really shitty thus far and he wasn’t sure he could take anymore cringe worthy experiences.

 

“Your Honor,” Murdock cleared his throat, “My partner and I obtained a videoed testimony from Mr. Gregory only just a few hours before his supposed suicide.”

 

Everyone looked surprised. Including Karl and the other lawyers. Ross’ face contorted briefly, but soldiers were soldiers and hiding emotions was second nature, so Tony didn’t get the satisfaction of taking in his horror. Nelson stood from his seat as well and crossed the room, opening a back door. A blonde woman rolled in a television screen on a cart that looked like a dinosaur. If they had told Tony he could have gotten something with HD because he knew that whatever he was about to watch was going to be _very_ enjoyable.

 

Nelson put in a tape, a freaking _tape_. Tony nearly had a coronary.

 

Then the footage rolled.

 

Tony had only really seen Martin Gregory in his mugshot, but there was something unnerving about seeing the man who shot Peter in the leg moving and alive when he was now dead as a doornail. A part of Tony didn’t care. Didn’t care that the man probably hadn’t killed himself, probably had been murdered. Because he had been working for Ross. Had shot Peter. Had shot that security guard. Unnerving.

 

The guy was glancing around anxiously, his orange jumpsuit blurred with the low quality of the footage. He pointed at the camera and asked, “Why’re we recording this?”

 

Tony distinctively heard Nelson reply in the background, “Just for the record.”

 

There was shuffling and the camera tried to focus. Nelson cursed softly before speaking to someone else, “Why’re we using this old camera.”

 

“It’s not that old,” Murdock’s familiar, calm voice responded.

 

“At least, like, two-hundred years.”

 

“I don’t think they had cameras two-hundred years ago, Foggy.”

 

Tony shook his head. They sounded like Peter and Ned, bickering with one another. Nelson’s face in the corner of the courtroom was distinctively red. The blonde woman was smiling, like she wanted to laugh, but she was forcing that down. Murdock was passive. Staring into the distance as the video continued.

 

“So, Mr. Gregory,” Foggy’s voice started off camera, “As we understand it, you once worked under Secretary Ross, is that correct?”

 

Martin Gregory nodded on screen, “That’s right.”

 

“And you served in the military for ten years? Special forces?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Paper was being turned through for a few moments before Foggy’s voice returned, “And…Secretary Ross dishonorably discharged you because you acted on your own volition during an assignment, which resulted in the deaths of two other men.”

 

A pause. Martin Gregory’s face contorted. Relaxed. Then looked pained. Like he was grasping at the information. Maybe that wasn’t the whole story. Gregory responded bluntly, “That’s a very condensed version of the events, but yes.”

 

Murdock’s voice then asked, “Could you explain those events?”

 

A sigh escaped Gregory. He shifted in his seat again, nervously. Picking at his fingernails, he explained, “We were stationed overseas in Afghanistan. There was a group of hostages taken by enemy forces. Women and children, kidnapped from their homes, their husbands murdered in the streets. Ross told us we couldn’t intervene.”

 

“But you did,” Murdock provided.

 

Gregory nodded solemnly, “Yeah, I did. Two buddies of mine and myself broke off from the rest of our group and went in. We were ambushed…They died…I didn’t. And Ross discharged me a month later.”

 

“Can you tell us about the next time Secretary Ross contacted you?”

 

Martin shrugged, “A few weeks ago. Maybe a month, I’m not sure. He called and asked to meet me at the river docks in late January. He offered me a job and in exchanged, he said I would be reinstated to my position.”

 

“And what did this job involve?”

 

It was obvious the man on the video was grinding his teeth as he sighed, “He wanted some kind of drug to be taken from the security vault in Queens. I didn’t ask a lot about it. Ross just gave me the code to get into the vault. Get in and get out.”

 

Murdock’s voice got quieter, “But that’s not how things happened.”

 

Martin Gregory scoffed, “Hell no, it’s not. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone there when we arrived. But a security guard and two secretaries were hanging out after closing hours. One of the men I was working with shot the guard. Then the other rounded up the secretaries. I tried to get the vault open, but the code didn’t work. Only to find out later, Ross had the drug removed completely and the codes were changed after it disappeared. He knew we were going to get caught.”

 

A murmur started to resonate through the courtroom. Ross was glancing around anxiously and Tony wanted to smile in triumph. He turned his attention back to the video when Murdock asked Gregory, “So why this drug? If Secretary Ross already had the drug, what was special about this one?”

 

“It was a separate version,” Gregory’s face looked slightly confused, “Ross said he was testing a few concoctions, but didn’t go into a ton of detail about it. This was the latest test.”

 

Then Foggy’s voice resonated, “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Gregory.”

 

Then, the video stopped.

 

Nelson stepped away from the television and Murdock still stood, staring into the distance. Ross stood, causing several people to jump in surprise at the sudden action as he shouted towards Judge Braxton, “This criminal obviously had a personal vendetta against me! Nothing he said should be taken into consideration by the court! I haven’t even spoken to that man since he was discharged last year!”

 

Tony looked at him, his eyes traveling to Ross’ cellphone on the table.

 

_“He called and asked to meet me at the river docks in late January.”_

Tony’s eyes then traveled to the old television.

 

Silently, he picked up his own cellphone, beginning to type hurriedly, Ross’ voice still shouting through the room. Rhodey grabbed his shoulder and questioned, “What’re you doing?”

 

“Showing some ‘transparency’,” Tony grinned.

 

Ross’ phone lit up when Tony’s connected, but Ross was too busy losing his little mind, that he didn’t notice. Tony then raised his cellphone, casting it onto the dinosaur of a television. The screen turned blue, a message that said ‘wait’ flashing across. Ross paused in his angry rant, his brows raising in shock. Foggy and the blonde woman looked confused.

 

Murdock was smirking and Tony was starting to think he could read minds.

 

When the ‘wait’ message disappeared, a mirror imagine of Ross’ phone appeared. People sitting behind Tony started to speak amongst themselves in surprise and Ross whirled towards Tony, snapping, “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Just letting the court in on your call history,” Tony started to scroll through, back into late January. Tony paused under an unsaved number and hummed, “Well, right where he said it was. Why don’t we find out who this number is registered to, huh ladies and gentlemen?”

 

Tony started digging further into the phone.

 

Judge Braxton was saying something, but Tony ignored her as he continued. Ross tried to move forward, but Murdock once again put himself between them, effectively stopping the man in his tracks. The crowd was getting louder now with anticipation as the reverse-look-up appeared on the screen and below the unsaved number was the name MARTIN PATRICK GREGORY.

 

“Look at that!” Tony smiled, dropping his phone onto the table and holding out his hands, “Looks like you _have_ been in contact with Martin Gregory within this year.”

 

Ross exclaimed, looking at the judge, “He cannot do this!”

 

“But I did,” Tony snapped, standing and moving behind Murdock to get closer to Ross, “I told you, you’re _done_. I want you out of the Accords and I want you investigated for the drug you helped to create.”

 

Before Ross could respond, Tony stepped back and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I get it Ross, you’re an old man. Technology is hard. Apparently clearing your call history is too!”

 

Murdock pushed Ross back enough to make the man stumble. People were loud, standing, despite Judge Braxton trying to regain order within the court room. No one was listening. Tony only stared at Ross’ angry eyes, taking in the satisfaction he felt at exposing him to the entire world as the cameras flashed.

 

Turning to face him, Murdock hummed, “You owe me.”

 

Tony nodded, “You certainly deserve a raise.”

 

Ross and Tony made eye contact one last time and Ross spoke just loudly enough for him to hear, “You just sealed that kid’s fate, Stark.”

 

Tony would have lunged, if not for the media and Rhodey moving behind him to catch his collar.

 

…

 

The live feed on Peter’s new cell phone stopped.

 

Both he and Ned looked at each other, eyes wide in shock. They sat at their usual lunch table, earbuds in, having been watching the trial on and off throughout the day. Peter blinked at Ned and he whispered, “That just happened.”

 

A smile grew on Ned’s face and he exclaimed, though kept his voice quiet, “Dude! Mr. Stark just _destroyed_ Ross! That was so amazing!”

 

Peter pulled the shared earbuds out of their ears and began to put them in his pocket, along with his cellphone. The one he had been given before being sent off to school. The one Tony swore was just ‘lying around’ the penthouse. Same phone number and everything. He shook his head furiously before asking, “You saw my ribs in the locker room before gym. Ross is…Ross isn’t going to lose, not that easily. I mean, even if the judge decides to side with Mr. Stark we still…He still could…”

 

“Peter,” Ned’s face softened from excitement to concern, “Mr. Stark isn’t going to let Ross hurt you again. He’s Iron Man.”

 

Peter scoffed, “And he was Iron Man last night. And I was Spider-Man. And I still got my ass handed to me on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I’m surprised some people with banjos didn’t try to eat me out there.”

 

Shaking his head, Peter continued, “A-and Ross threatened to put me on a watch list. Do you know how hard it’s going to be if I want to be Spider-Man while being watched? They’ll…they’ll connect the dots or something and I…I…”

 

_God, I miss Aunt May. I miss home. I miss my bed. I miss Before. I miss my last name. I miss not having to think about this. I miss not being tied to Mr. Stark legally. I don’t want him to be my father. I want my name. I want my name. I want my name._

Ross would have never known about him if he hadn’t been tied to Tony.

 

Peter pretended that thought didn’t cross his mind. He didn’t want to blame Tony for all of this. They had enough issues and Tony was _trying_ to listen more. He had shown that when he had let him come to school.

 

A hand suddenly slapped Peter on the back, causing the air to leave him as pain radiated through his bruised body. He turned to see Flash, leaning over the lunch table where he and Ned were sitting. Ned groaned loudly as Flash greeted, “’Sup Penis Parker.”

 

Peter looked away as Flash continued, “Or…I guess I shouldn’t call you that anymore huh? Since you’ve got a new kennel and all.”

 

Immediately, Peter started trying to stand from the table. He pulled from Flash’s grip and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Ned did the same and Flash made a fake-sad face, “Oh c’mon, I just wanted to chat. I just finished watching the live feed of the trial. I thought you’d wanna get all the attention you could, since that’s always what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?”

 

_You don’t know me. I’m smothering in attention. I’m dying. It’s strangling me around my throat._

Peter began to walk away, Ned directly beside him as Flash trotted behind him, “My dad says Stark is screwed, you know? I mean, first he breaks up the Avengers, then he decides to go after the guy who is trying to clean up his mess!”

 

Clenching his jaw, Peter tried to ignore him…

 

“You should tell your ‘ _dad’_ maybe he should focus a little more on learning to parent a loser than getting involved in politics.”

 

Peter didn’t know what happened.

 

One second, he was heading towards the exit of the cafeteria, Ned beside him.

 

The next he was whirling around, his fist making contact with Flash’s nose.

 

The other teen fell onto the floor immediately, blood beginning to gush. Flash made a startled sound and a loud gasp befell the cafeteria and silence started to reign through Flash’s cries. Ned grabbed Peter’s backpack, even though Peter made no step to continue his attack. He felt weak, suddenly. Like he wasn’t himself. He looked at his own hands, surprised. Had he done that? Had he just punched Flash in the nose?

 

Flash cradled his face, obvious tears in his eyes.

 

A voice chuckled from the table to their left…

 

“Nice punch.”

 

Peter glanced. MJ, of course.

 

Everyone was watching with wide eyes. A teacher rushed over and pulled Peter away, but Peter wasn’t threatening anyone. He was just standing, limply over Flash’s shaking form as crimson leaked through his fingers.

 

…

 

Pepper came to pick him up.

 

He got three days suspension.

 

Peter knew it could have been worse since Flash didn’t fight back. That he threw the first and only punch. But Principal Davis was merciful, only because the new billionaire child was involved and Peter would have almost preferred expulsion. He felt nauseous through the whole conversation with Pepper and Principal Davis. They asked what triggered the fight, but Peter couldn’t say it, because it would make him sound ungrateful.

 

Which he was ungrateful. He never asked to be Tony’s child.

 

The ride home was silent because neither of them knew the driver very well. It wasn’t until they were in the penthouse and Pepper sat him down on the couch that they finally talked to each other…

 

“I know…I know _you_ know that what happened was wrong.”

 

Peter stared at the floor, because it was different when Pepper was scolding him. It was still laced with the kind of love that May had for him. The kind of love that didn’t exist anymore because Aunt May wouldn’t love Peter Stark. Because Peter Stark was ungrateful and broken and sad. But worst of all, sometimes, Peter Stark was happy and forgot about her.

 

“I do,” Peter confirmed.

 

Pepper reached out and grabbed his hand in hers.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

_I do. I do. I do._

He opened his mouth. But nothing escaped. Nothing but a quiet croak and Pepper stared patiently. Kindly. Peter held tightly to her hand and she nodded, giving him a look that said ‘go ahead. I’ll wait. I’m here.’

 

And Peter asked quietly, “Am I still me?”

 

Maybe that wasn’t what she expected, because her brows furrowed, “What do you mean, Peter?”

 

Peter used his free hand to grab the front of his sweater, above his chest. He whispered weakly, “Is Peter Parker different from Peter Stark?”

 

Because it felt like they were different. Completely so. Pepper’s hand tightened on his and Peter wanted to cry into her shoulder, but he didn’t move. A part of him thought _‘did you help let this happen, Ms. Potts? Did you help him take away the last thing I had of them?_ ’

 

No one had asked Peter. No one had gotten his opinion.

 

Pepper let go of his hand and cupped his face, “You are the same as you have ever been.”

 

“But I’m not,” Peter croaked, “Mr. Stark took my name away.”

 

Pepper’s face was pained as she pushed his hair behind his ear. Breathing deeply, Pepper sighed, “There is…security in that name.”

 

“He didn’t ask me,” His eyes were burning.

 

“And he should have,” Pepper sounded certain, “He should have asked you. I told him to ask you. But he thought you would say no and Tony doesn’t…He doesn’t _hear_ that very well. And that was wrong of him. I’m not excusing that behavior. In many ways, Tony is still a child that is trying to take care of a child and he just doesn’t _ask_ …”

 

Peter was silent as she went on, “He got what he wanted and that was for you to have his name. And it’s wrong of him to be that way. To always try and make it obvious what’s connected to him. He seems to think it deters potential threats. I’m so sorry, Peter.”

 

How had things felt okay that morning? That morning when he was having breakfast and he didn’t feel so afraid anymore? But then the words Flash had said started to ring louder than Peter’s own security and just…How the hell had that happened? He had been fine. _Fine_. He had forgotten he wasn’t Peter Parker, for just a second. He had been normal. He had been himself.

 

_He’s not going to change. He’s never going to change._

“I want my name back,” Peter insisted. He was crying. Pepper was trying to wipe his tears away with her thumbs, “Please, Ms. Potts, give it back.”

 

She looked like she wanted to cry _for_ him, but she stayed steady “Honey, I can’t.”

 

_Right, because Mr. Stark gets to decide everything having to do with me. Everything._

Peter nodded in understanding, “I-I know…I just thought…I…”

 

He trailed of and leaned forward. Her embrace welcomed him and he pressed his face into her shoulder. Peter held on like his life depended on it.


	12. The Abyss Can Blink Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unraveling. Unraveling.
> 
> It had started like that.
> 
> “Stop it!” Peter’s voice came out, but he didn’t recognize it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended to post this until Wednesday, but technically speaking, where I live, Wednesday is in an hour. I hope you all enjoy! Love you guys (I know these notes are getting repetitive, but I feel the need to thank you guys and I like to express my love) <3

“Do my eyes deceive me? _The_ Tony Stark, sitting in a bar, but drinking sparkling water?”

 

Rhodey’s voice was laced with good-humored sarcasm as he leaned over the barstool beside Tony. Tony glared at his friend and then rolled his eyes, “Don’t be dramatic. You’re one of the people who would kick my ass if I was in here throwing back shots.”

 

Rhodey shrugged and took a seat, gesturing to the group of lawyers in the corner, laughing and drinking together, “Honestly, I expected you to be celebrating with them. You know, since the judge ruled to put Ross under investigation. Seems pretty drink worthy.”

 

“They’re young, they recover quicker than I do,” Tony glared, with only a hint of jealousy towards the vivacious lawyers whooping and hollering. Nelson was by far the loudest. Murdock was nowhere to be found. Not that Tony wanted to properly thank him or anything for the save that he had pulled together. _Not that_ he wanted to know how Murdock had known that the video would even be necessary.

 

He took a sip of his drink before continuing, “I’m just glad it’s over.”

 

His friend made a face and Tony glared as Rhodey held up his hands, “Not to be a pessimist, but for it to actually be over, they have to find something to prove that Martin Gregory’s testimony was valid. They want evidence.”

 

“And I want a good night’s rest, so they better hurry,” Tony snapped.

 

Rhodey sighed before questioning softly, “How’s Peter? You said the school called earlier, right?”

 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. In all honesty, he had no clue how Peter was. He had been avoiding calling Pepper and asking. It was cowardly. But he didn’t want to. With every fiber of his being he wanted to ignore the issue all together. He wanted to go home and pretend it didn’t happen, that Peter hadn’t supposedly punched another kid in the nose. Got suspended. He didn’t know how an adult was supposed to react to such a thing. How to punish a teenager who had already lost most of his life.

 

“I don’t know,” Tony relented, “He got into a fight, but I haven’t checked in yet.”

 

Coward.

 

Rhodey opened his mouth, as if to scold Tony for such a thing, but Tony’s phone went off before Rhodey had the chance. The ringing made Tony jump, but it was a welcomed escape until he saw Pepper’s name on the screen. His teeth clenched and he glanced at the man next to him who held up his hands…

 

“Don’t look at me. She’s your fiancée.”

 

Tony groaned, standing and walking out of the bar, away from the noise and out into the cool night air. Moving to the edge of the street, Tony pressed the green button and greeted, “Hello dearest.”

 

_“Tony.”_

She was angry. How could she be angry? He hadn’t even done anything yet! Or maybe that was _why_ she was angry…

 

Tony ran a hand through his hair and hummed, “Why does it sound like I’m about to be torn a new one?”

 

_“This isn’t funny,”_ She growled, _“Guess what I just finished doing?”_

Holding out his arms to an empty sky, Tony said, “You just…gave my company to Oscorp?”

 

Pepper’s voice responded _, “I told you this isn’t funny. I just finished comforting Peter while he cried for an hour. Do you know why?”_

A pit of despair opened in Tony’s chest. He had thought…He had thought things were getting better. That morning had been okay. He and Peter had, had their first real conversation in weeks. A conversation without screaming or shouting with anger. Actual smiles. Like the way things used to be before May Parker had died. Tony lowered his head and whispered, “Why?”

 

Her voice came back pained, _“Because we missed something vitally important. He…He is completely distraught. Not like the day you signed those papers. He is **hurt**. Because his last name is gone and he didn’t want it to be.”_

Tony opened his mouth. A name? This was about a name?

 

Pepper interrupted _, “We ignored him, Tony. We didn’t see it. A-and now I’ve had to leave him to go take care of stupid paper work for Stark Industries and I want you to go home and I want you to talk to him. Right. Now.”_

He could tell she was trembling.

 

_“Or I will take him on my next business trip. And I’ll make sure it’s a very long one.”_

Something…Something strange befell Tony. A weird anger at her words. At the threat. He turned and stared down the street, biting his tongue, because he wanted to be cruel. But he couldn’t be cruel to Pepper. She was much too strong and she would stomp it out of him because the woman was the most powerful being on earth. More powerful than the Hulk, Tony thought.

 

“I’m the one with custody, Pep.”

 

_“So what? You’re going to have your fiancée arrested for kidnapping?”_

“I’d be able to find him,” Tony’s hands tightened. Unnerved. There was something extremely painful and sickening about the threat that made Tony want to vomit. It felt like he had actually been inside, taking those shots with the lawyers. Like he hadn’t been drinking sparkling water at all.

 

Tony bit out, “You _know_ I would be able to.”

 

_“Go talk to him. He’s hurting. **Talk** to him and we won’t have to test that.”_

Dial tone.

 

…

 

Peter hadn’t wanted Pepper to leave.

 

She had to. Emergency with Stark Industries and sure, she had asked if he wanted her to stay. But when Peter had desired to nod his head up and down, he had shaken it back and forth. Then he was left alone in the silence of the penthouse, the sun setting, and the remnants of the last few hours still hanging heavily in the air and on his skin. It burned like acid, clinging to him. Dragging him to the bottom of the lake. Drowning him in the frigid water.

 

Peter paced.

 

It had started like that. Pacing in the living room. Then the kitchen. Then up and down the hallways. He moved without much thought and suddenly he found he was moving throughout the entirety of the penthouse. When the light of the sun stopped flooding into the glass windows, Peter would occasionally stumble on furniture as he moved from room to room, aimlessly, heavy. There was a precipice he was on the edge of and his heart raced with anxiety and the worry and fear of himself.

 

Maybe he should have made sure Pepper stayed.

 

Peter swung his hands together.

 

_It had started like that._

 

Then it became something else entirely. His movements weren’t aimless, but meaningful, yet he had nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. His trembling hands wrung together, pale flesh glowing in the moonlight that had appeared in the living room. But then Peter would be surrounded by the darkness of the hallway and he kept bumping into the corner between his room and Tony’s because he kept forgetting it was there. Each time was jarring and almost, _almost_ brought him back to reality. He thought, if he would just hit it harder the next time, it would work. He would stop. His legs would crumble and he could go back to reality.

 

But this was not reality.

 

_It had started like that._

 

It was not his skin that he was inside of, and he dug his nails into his arms, shutting his eyes as he stopped in the pitch-darkness of the hallway. His chest heaved, in and out and for a moment he thought he was floating into the cosmos. Something needed to ground him. He dug his nails deeper, slammed his shoulder into the corner. Nothing. He was still drifting further and further and this body was not his. It didn’t belong to him.

 

Nothing belonged to him.

 

_“You should tell your ‘dad’ maybe he should focus a little more on learning to parent a loser than getting involved in politics.”_

Peter had been fine that morning. Had been getting a grip of himself and he and Tony had shared an actual conversation. So why, why had Flash’s stupid words resonated so deeply within Peter’s skull? What machine in him was malfunctioning? What had triggered him? He shouldn’t have let Pepper leave. He should have asked her to stay. Because his nails couldn’t cut deep enough into his arms and the corner wasn’t bringing him back to reality. His was still floating away.

 

This body was not his own.

 

He threw his bedroom door open and stumbled into the room, moving and climbing into his closet. Slamming the door behind himself, he all but collapsed onto the floor and his soul was being pulled into the atmosphere above the penthouse as he pressed himself back against the wall. A hook was under his belly and he was going to die right there if the final thread pulled through and tore him to pieces.

 

Unraveling. Unraveling.

 

_It had started like that._

 

“Stop it!” Peter’s voice came out, but he didn’t recognize it.

 

He wasn’t particularly sure who he was speaking to, but he was almost positive it was his own self for trying to float away. For ignoring his fingernails and the corner between his and Tony’s room. He couldn’t feel because he was pulling away from his own tether. Nothing was holding him to the planet anymore. Peter was a constellation, tearing free and he was dying, burning out like an old sun.

 

Peter leaned forward and slammed his body back against the wall of his closet. His head rattled, jarring his teeth and his chest, his still bruised ribs almost screaming, but at least it was something. At least he didn’t feel that pit of nothingness. At least he could breathe, if not, it was knocked out of him. Peter leaned forward again, and slammed his head back, crying out, the sheetrock giving way.

 

The thuds that erupted with each slam of his head against the wall was nothing compared to the synthesized relief he felt with each strike. His head collided, his skull throbbed painfully, but he wasn’t floating away anymore. He wasn’t dying. He could feel air try to enter his lungs and tears were staining his face, but it was something and the unraveling was slowing.

 

Still, with that worldly feeling came pain. A pain he couldn’t have imagined.

 

Claws ripping across his chest and under his ribs, prying and cracking him open like an experiment with no drugs. Because Peter wasn’t allowed to medicate himself anymore, even though he saw Tony do it almost every night when Tony thought Peter wasn’t watching. It was an unearthly pain and Peter screamed again, and slammed back, back, back, back.

 

But suddenly, something was there, between his head and the wall. Between the skull he had repeatedly assaulted and the broken sheetrock. Peter’s eyes were held shut tightly, the tears and sobs escaping and he sounded like an infant, inconsolable as the something behind his head weaved into his hair and a voice began to speak rather frantically.

 

“Stop, stop, what are you _doing_? You’re going to hurt yourself, Peter, _stop it_.”

 

Peter’s eyes opened and the salt was preventing him from seeing properly, but he knew, in the darkness of his closet, that it was Tony kneeling down in front of him. Peter’s chest shook and heaved and truly, he was frenzied. He tried to throw his head back again, but the hand in his hair prevented the blow and Peter cried out in frustration. Tony kept the hand there while his other hand reached up to grab Peter’s chin in an attempt to hold his head still and stop the actions.

 

Using his hands to wrap around his middle, Peter tried to curl into himself. He wanted to tell Tony that everything hurt. That he was dying and that something was inside of him, ripping him apart, but the only things escaping were gasps and sobs. Peter didn’t think he had been this frazzled in the back of the car the day they buried May. At least then he could talk. But this…This was different. Agony. It hurt so much worse and maybe he was going into shock.

 

When he tried to slam his head back again, Tony pulled him away from the wall, moving to Peter’s side to get better leverage at holding his head still. Tony spoke again, but this time it was a shout, and it was forceful and it made Peter still in his tracks…

 

“Peter, stop!”

 

His muscles stilled, but the crying didn’t cease. His body went lax and a sigh escaped the man. Tony dropped fully, letting go of his leverage when he knew Peter had finished his self-assault. His hand stayed weaved in Peter’s hair, but the other hand moved to Peter’s neck, checking his pulse. Tony used his sleeve to remove tears from Peter’s face, but they were coming so quickly now that it was no use.

 

“Take some deep breaths.”

 

He tried, but it felt like glass in his lungs. Trembling fingers reached out and hooked into the front of Tony’s suit, the too expensive fabric nearly giving under his nails. He held on tight, and this, this was what was needed. He wasn’t floating away anymore and he tightened his grip. _No longer floating away._

 

“No, kiddo, you’re not floating. I’ve gotcha.”

 

The hand that had been trying to wipe away tears moved to Peter’s bicep and squeezed. Peter pulled in a shaky breath and Tony spoke softly, “Pepper called me…Said you were upset and…Christ, kid.”

 

Straight to the point. It was so, blunt. Tony Stark. Peter shut his eyes, a few more tears slipping through at the thought of having to explain himself. Peter tried, “I…I…”

 

“You said you would come to me if things got unbearable,” Tony didn’t sound angry, more lost, “You said you’d come to me.”

 

Peter lowered his head and his shoulders shook a bit harder as he tried to speak past his tears, “I-I didn’t know. I d-didn’t know…It was bad. I-It wasn’t, I swear, I was fine…Just this morning…Everything was o-okay…I don’t kn…ow…”

 

His voice died off and he choked on his words, having to gasp to gain air again.

 

“Maybe you were,” Tony provided. Despite the darkness, Peter could see his eyes. They were full of worry. Sorry. Frustration. “Maybe you were okay this morning. Yesterday. Maybe only a few hours, but you’re not _dealing_ with things, kid. Trust me, I’m the king of bottling things up until it explodes and you’re not _dealing_.”

 

Peter’s hands shook and Tony continued, “Do you _want_ to be here, Peter?”

 

The boy’s head snapped up and he blinked, “Yes.”

 

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Tony said, “Pepper said that you were upset about the adoption. That you cried for an hour. And I come home and I find you _slamming_ your head against the wall, so I’m having trouble believing you right now. Should I not have done it? Should I have let you go into the system? Kid, I don’t know what you want from me-”

 

“Not that!” Peter cried out, his voicing breaking, “I don’t want that! I _want_ to be here!”

 

He almost coughed, but continued, “I-I…My name, Mr. Stark. You took my _name_. You didn’t even ask m-me. You didn't...ask...how I would f-feel. It was never...about _being_  here, I know Aunt May is _dead_. I can't go home...But it was my name. You could have _asked_ me. Listened to me. _Heard_ me.”

 

Tony paused. Breathed. The hand in Peter’s hair shifted in the wrong direction and Peter knew his locks were probably all askew. Peter whispered before Tony could respond, “I’m…I’m getting over it. O-or I thought I was. This morning, I thought I was getting _over it_. I thought, I could live with being Peter Stark and having your name on my amended birth certificate…”

 

Heart beats.

 

“But…But…” Peter bit back a cry, “Aunt May has been dead for over _eight_ weeks. I’m sure she…she doesn’t even look like May anymore. She died, that night, when she walked in front of that car. S-she died cold…on a surgical table. I held Uncle Ben’s hand while he d-died, but May…she had to go alone.”

 

Peter looked down and shut his eyes tightly, “I _understood_ she was dead that night. When Doctor Windsor s…said it. But today…when Flash called you my dad in the cafeteria in front of _everyone_ because of my new name…That was when I **_felt_** her die.”

 

He gasped in a large breath of air and Tony’s hands were suddenly on both sides of his face, because he couldn’t breathe again. He started sobbing and Tony pulled Peter’s head down and forward into his own chest. Tony held the back of Peter’s neck and Peter’s chest quaked with each attempt to bring air into his lungs. His fingers gripped tightly at the back of Tony’s jacket, lacing into the fabric.

 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

 

Tony’s voice sounded honest. Peter buried his face deeper into Tony’s embrace as he apologized, “I’m sorry…I-I’m sorry I made you think…made you think I didn’t want to be here…I-I just…My name…It was my _name_ …It was _her_ name. And _she_ was my aunt and I loved her s-so much. I miss her.”

 

Peter sniffled, “Every day.”

 

“I know,” Tony put his chin on top of Peter’s head, “I know, kid. I _know_.”

 

And Peter knew that Tony understood. Because Tony had loved people too. People that had been taken from this planet and into the cosmos where Peter was almost dragged just a few minutes prior. Tony moved back and forth and Peter felt like an infant being rocked, but he didn’t care. Not at all, because it was dark and no one could see, not even him and this was where his pain could be laid to rest. This was where he could bury it, because he had tried to bury it within himself, and that, _that_ hadn’t worked. But there, in the dark room where Tony was telling him that he understood, _that_ was where it could go to die.

 

Where it could leave only remnants in Peter’s heart. So that the grief wouldn’t shred him apart any longer.

 

Peter whimpered, “I’m so sorry. I’m all messed up.”

 

“I am too,” Tony murmured, “We sure do make a pair.”

 

…

 

Peter sat at the counter, a bowl of cooling soup in front of him and a tall glass of water.

 

He hadn’t wanted to eat. The entire ordeal had left him nauseated and just unwilling to attempt to hold anything down. Mostly, he wanted to rest, but his mind was too awake, even though his body felt like lead as he sat staring down at the noodles. His hands were folded in his lap, the clicking of Tony typing on his laptop a few feet away echoing through the penthouse and across the marble.

 

Tony paused in his typing to regard Peter.

 

“I admit, it’s not my best cooking. It’ll probably taste like can.”

 

Peter’s head whipped in Tony’s direction. He didn’t know what Tony was working on, but ever since the man had managed to pry him from the floor of the closet and convince him to come out into the kitchen, he had been working. It was fine though. Peter felt uncomfortable, after his display. He didn’t want all of the attention focused on him.

 

He picked up the spoon and swooshed it through the broth as he said, “I didn’t know Tony Stark bought Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.”

 

“Rich people get sick too,” Tony huffed, “But sorry, I’m going to have to demand that you eat _something_.”

 

Peter dipped the spoon into the bowl and took a bite. Tony’s attention turned back down to the laptop in satisfaction. It did taste like can, but Peter continued to eat it without any more comments. When he finished, he chugged the water, nearly choking, but he held it back. He was about to excuse himself when FRIDAY’s voice announced…

 

“Boss, Steve Rogers is on the terrace.”

 

Just as the words escaped FRIDAY and Tony opened his mouth, probably to tell her to lock down, the door slid open.

 

Peter whirled around, staring down the landing from the kitchen into the living room where Mr. Rogers stood. He wasn’t in his Captain America uniform. Instead he was wearing a dark armor Peter had never seen before, his face just as overgrown as the last time he had visited. Tony slammed his laptop shut and shouted, “What the hell?! Is Wilson flying you up here or something?! You have to weigh a ton.”

 

Steve looked irritated by the greeting but entered, despite Tony’s movements towards him that were less than friendly. Peter jumped from his seat, but stopped when Tony shot him a look over his shoulder. Steve made an annoyed face before he snapped…

 

“Don’t bother. I know who he is now.”

 

Both Tony and Peter stilled. Peter felt horror creep into his skin as Steve continued, looking blatantly at Peter around Tony’s shoulder, “You talked a lot in Germany. But I only just connected the dots. Your voice. Why Tony would take such an interest in you. Enough interest to _adopt_ you…It makes sense. Stupid sense, but sense.”

 

Steve’s eyes found Tony’s, “You’re absolutely unbelievable, to bring a child to that fight.”

 

Peter could see Tony set his jaw…

 

“So, you broke back into my home to chew me out for bringing the kid to Germany? I knew you were one for pointless lectures, Cap, but I never guessed you’d go this far to get your ten minutes of ‘holier than thou’ glory.”

 

Peter moved forward a bit, just as Steve explained, “That wasn’t the point of me coming here. It was just something that got…added on. I came to tell you that we managed to find several areas that have been fountaining out Ross’ drug. But…it’s all useless, because we can’t find where he’s actually storing it.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing the authorities are handling that and they don’t need fugitives to help,” Tony quipped.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, “You really think Ross doesn’t have loyalists inside at least some of the authorities? Without finding where Ross is hiding the drugs, we have no definitive proof. No definitive proof means Ross goes free. And Ross going free is bad for everyone.”

 

Captain America’s eyes found Peter again, knowing. Did he know what Ross had done to him? Had someone told him or had he just found out on his own? From the way Tony looked between them, he seemed to be wondering the same thing. Pain flashed in the man’s features. Ross had hurt Peter and Tony wasn’t going to forget that anytime soon.

 

Peter shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, his eyes finding the back of Tony’s head as he whispered, “Mr. Stark?”

 

The man’s head turned in his direction and Peter continued, “W-what if he’s moving the drugs already?”

 

Tony let out a deep breath. He eyed Steve, like he was the most dangerous creature on the planet, and Peter couldn’t blame him. The fight in Siberia had more than likely been brutal, if Tony’s injuries had been any indicator. Both Captain America and the Winter Soldier had attacked him, had fought back. Had hurt Tony. _Physically_ and Steve had shattered Tony’s trust emotionally. Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t see Steve as a threat because of that incident. Because despite what he had said on that roof when angry at Tony, he was glad he had fought on his side. Even if the Accords hadn’t been right, Peter was glad he had chosen Tony.

 

Mr. Stark put his hands in his pockets and asked, “What do you want me to do?”

 

Peter felt his chest constrict. He knew the only reason Tony was doing this…was even _willing_ to consider working with Captain America, was because of him. Peter jumped down the two steps into the living room and said, “M-Mr. Stark!”

 

Tony ignored him and Steve only gave him a glance before explaining, “I just want to do a scan of the city. I’ve already got Sam and Natasha out working on it, but I could use your tech.”

 

Peter watched as Tony considered this for a long moment. He looked at Peter, the boy’s eyes wide. Afraid.

 

The man turned back to face Steve, “Fine. But after all of this is over you stay the hell away.”

 

“Deal.”

 

“No!” Peter exclaimed just as Tony turned to face him. Peter peered up at him with desperation in his eyes. Tony’s expression was passive, but it was only because he wanted it to appear that way. There was no way in hell that Tony could actually be feeling nothing. Not when he was going to have to help Captain America after months of radio silence.

 

Tony put a hand on his shoulder and assured, “It won’t take long.”

 

“B-but…” Peter could feel the remnants of his breakdown earlier gliding up his throat, “He _hurt_ you. And Ross hurt me. T-that’s two…not very trustworthy people getting really close and I-I…”

 

_I just opened up to you. Things finally feel…okay…I don’t want you to go._

Steve looked down, as if pretending he didn’t hear the words escape Peter’s mouth. Tony sighed, “You’re right, Ross did hurt you. Which is why I have to do this. I can suck it up for a night if it means making sure Ross gets put where he belongs. And there’s no guarantee I’ll even see him. I have to find where he’s storing the drug first, right?”

 

Peter wanted to pull his hair out…

 

“Let me come with you.”

 

Tony shook his head and Peter’s shoulders sagged.

 

There was no verbal response. Just the man’s palm pushing Peter’s hair back messily, Tony refusing to look him in the eyes.

 

Peter hadn’t wanted a father through any of this. He didn’t need one. He had, had Richard and then Ben. He didn’t need Tony to be his father, but he needed Tony to be there. He needed him to exist and he didn’t realize that until he watched Tony suit up and take off on the terrace with Captain America, leaving him behind. Leaving him to watch the glow of the suit go off into the distance, while Sam Wilson arrived to carry Captain America.

 

Peter sat on the floor in front of the window, and started to wait.

 

He had come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t move from that spot until Tony returned. Until the glow of his suit came back over the horizon or the glow of the sunrise. Whichever came first. His mind swam with thoughts of where they would be going. Whether or not Captain America was trustworthy. Whether Tony was truly safe and it seemed ridiculous because it was Steve freaking Rogers, but Peter’s head was all clouded from earlier.

 

Nothing seemed right and nothing was processing.

 

Maybe…Maybe that was why it had taken him so long to have _the_ thought.

 

His fingers were digging into the glass when it happened. When it stabbed him in the back like a hot-poker. Peter’s fingers stilled where he was scribbling shapes into the fog that he had breathed. His head yanked backward. He blinked. _Blinked_. The memory was at the tip of his mind, and he hadn’t even realized he was thinking, brainstorming, _knowing and knowing_ this information. It had been stored away. And then his finger slid over his thigh where the bullet wound had been.

 

Where the scar had healed.

 

_“Maybe they moved the drug to Barren Mills.”_

It had seemed like an offhanded comment at the time. The situation had been so high stress, that Peter hadn’t given it much thought. Really, he hadn’t known he heard such a statement in the security vault while a man laid on the floor, a gunshot wound to his chest and the two women crying while Peter hung upside down and waited for the opportune time to intervene. The night he had bled all over Ned’s bathroom and Ned had texted him before and after shots of his handy work before his mother had returned home from her business trip.

 

It was a bad night. A night when Tony had yelled so much that Peter’s ears rung for hours until Rhodey had given him pain medicine that worked. _Pain medicine that Peter couldn’t give himself._

“Oh God,” Peter whispered. Barren Mills was an abandoned warehouse at the docks. One of the largest.

 

He jumped from where he was sitting, scrambling to his room, almost hitting the corner between his and Tony’s. He rushed inside, grabbing his cellphone off the bed and beginning to dial Tony’s number.

 

FRIDAY’s voice responded…

 

“Tony Stark currently has his ‘do not disturb’ mode in place.”

 

Peter groaned. Tried again. Same message.

 

“What!?” Peter shouted, “You put your phone on ‘do not disturb’ the night you go out to search for Ross’ storage!?”

 

The teen threw his cellphone down onto the mattress, glancing around the room anxiously. His eyes searched for an idea, help, a savior. Ross would be moving the drugs, that much was clear. By the time Tony got back, the place could be cleared out. No way to trace Ross back to the drug then.

 

Peter’s eyes turned to his closet.

 

He pushed the door open and switched on the light, ignoring the hole in the wall where he had slammed his head repeatedly. He immediately began to dig, finding his webshooters from his onesie and his goggles stored safely inside an old backpack on his top-shelf. Pulling down a dark hoodie, Peter slipped that on, along with the other gear. The onesie was long gone, but all he really needed were his shooters and something to cover his face.

 

Peter was well aware of Barren Mills Warehouse. He was _well_ _aware_ that it would be a good place to store a lot…A _lot_ of drugs. A good source to fountain out the items and spread them where they needed to go under Ross’ orders. The information had seemed insignificant at the time. A suggestion of three panicking criminals who were being cornered. But Peter knew better now. Knew nothing was just useless or insignificant in this world.

 

Peter grabbed his new cellphone and plugged in his earbuds. He dialed Ned’s number, praying for his friend to pick up. He put the earbuds in and listened to the phone ring several times until Ned’s voice responded from the other end groggily, “ _Peter_?”

 

“Hey dude,” Peter whispered, putting the phone in his pocket and adjusting the earbuds in his ears. He started to climb out the window, the wind tearing into him. He stuck to the glass and shut the window behind him, “I need your help.”

 

_“Oh God, are you swinging right now? Is that wind?”_

 

Peter chuckled nervously. He was in fact swinging now.

 

“Yeah…I am.”

 

_“Peterrrrrr.”_

 

“Okay, I know, I know. I’m an idiot,” Peter grunted as he swung again, making the trek towards the docks, “But I’m currently having to wear a hoodie and goggles and I need my guy in the chair because you know…There’s no Karen.”

 

Ned groaned, _“You just want me to keep you company?”_

“Sort of,” Peter smiled a bit, “I’m heading to Barren Mills Warehouse, you know, down by the docks? I think that’s where Ross is hiding the bulk of the drugs.”

 

The source. The storage place. The fountain. Whatever it was called…

 

“Last time I did something involving Ross I got the shit beat out of me, so I just thought it would be helpful to have you on the line.”

 

_“You’re scared.”_

Peter rolled his eyes under the goggles, “Yes, Ned, I’m scared.”

 

There was a long pause and Peter worried for a moment that his swinging maybe disconnected the phone or something. However, Ned eventually spoke, _“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Stark you know where the drug is? He could have gotten a whole hoard of people to go.”_

 

“Because he put his phone on ‘do not disturb’, and I need to get there now if I’m going to get proof that Ross is connected to the drug,” Peter huffed.

 

_“You’re going to be in so much trouble.”_

“Maybe not. Mr. Stark and I had a really good talk tonight.”

 

_“At the very least you’ll be grounded forever.”_

Peter landed in a crouch, on top of the adjacent building from Barren Mills Warehouse. He snapped into the earbuds, “Hey, do you wanna be my guy in the chair tonight or not?”

 

_“I do.”_

“Okay then, please take my side.”

 

Ned said nothing in return as Peter lowered himself and moved towards the edge of the building, peering over. He could see lights on in the windows, dim, but there. Shadows moved about the walls and Peter spoke softly, “There’re people inside.”

 

_“You gonna kick their asses?”_

“No,” Peter almost laughed, “I want to get them on video.”

 

_“And then are you going to kick their asses?”_

Peter rolled his eyes and ignored the comment, jumping from the building to the upper windows of Barren Mills Warehouse. He slipped through a small broken square in the bottom right, crawling onto a small wooden ledge. He was blinded through the goggles for a moment by the bright lights that looked much dimmer outside. There were a lot more men moving below than he expected, so Peter carefully lowered himself into the corner, behind several crates.

 

A low murmur was among the men as they spoke to each other. They seemed to be moving box after box back towards the loading ramp in the front of the building.

 

Peter whispered, “I think…they’re moving the stuff.”

 

Ned questioned _, “What stuff? The drugs?”_

Peter didn’t respond as he took out his cellphone, beginning to record from his hiding place. It wasn’t of much importance, and Peter wondered if it would even be useful. The men weren’t talking loud enough to be heard and Peter’s heart was rather relaxed in his chest, despite his shaky recording. He was disappointed actually, wondering if the entire trip over had been a waste of time.

 

All for nothing.

 

That was until the corner door opened and a figure stepped inside.

 

Peter’s relaxed exterior quickly melted away and was replaced with a racing pulse and sweat pouring down his back and through his hoodie, despite the cold. Everyone who was moving objects stopped to look at Ross as he walked towards the center of the warehouse, his face non-reactive. Peter zoomed the camera in on the man, blinking several times with anxiety.

 

The last time he had seen him…The last time…

 

Peter’s hands trembled even more, he had to take deep breaths to keep steady.

 

_“Peter? You’re breathing really weird…Are you okay?”_

“Ross just walked in,” Peter whispered.

 

_“Oh shit.”_

Peter gulped thickly as Ross’ booming voice snapped at the idle individuals, “Well don’t just stand there! I want this crap out of here in the next few hours. We don’t have much time before the place is inspected.”

 

They really were moving the drugs.

 

Peter spoke softly to Ned _,_ “He’s trying to get the drugs out before Judge Braxton’s search warrant goes through.”

 

_“You should go cut **his** hand open.”_

That almost elicited a laugh and a response, despite Peter’s nerves. But the hair on the back of his neck stood up so suddenly, he dropped the cellphone out of his hands. Peter started to turn, was in the process, when he saw a man he didn’t know standing above him, holding a wrench in his hand. Before Peter even had time to shoot his webs or kick out, the metal slammed into his temple, sending him onto his side limply.

 

The last thing Peter knew was that it felt like his left eye was going to explode and Ned’s voice was screaming through the earbuds…

 

…

 

“You’re lucky you didn’t kill him.”

 

“I didn’t know he was important, sir…I-I thought he was just some snoop.”

 

“So, you crack his skull with a wrench?”

 

The speaking was loud. Too loud. Peter’s stomach churned and the urge to vomit surfaced rather forcefully. His limbs felt numb and tingly, like when his foot would fall asleep as a kid in pre-school sitting around the class rug or when he and Ned spent a whole day playing video games in Ned’s bean bag chairs. It sounded like he was underwater, but things were amplified, even his own heartbeat and the throbbing in the side of his head.

 

“I think he’s waking up.”

 

Peter groaned softly, his eyes cracking open in the slightest. There was movement, all around him, like he was in the back of a moving vehicle. His vision was blurred around the edges and the two men in front of him were too distorted for him to recognize. Peter tugged at his aching arms, only to find them attached to something around his wrists. He tugged again, pain shooting up his spine at the harshness.

 

He blinked hard, _hard_ , open, blink again. It was like before he got bitten, before his vision had become 20/20. When he still needed glasses. He tried to tug his fingers through whatever was holding him, but the metal (must have been, it was so cold) wouldn’t budge. Peter whined, opening his eyes as wide as he could and practically forcing the world around him to come into focus.

 

Dim lights on the ceiling, definitely in the back of a truck. Two men sitting on a long bench against the wall, like in the SUV Peter had been kidnapped in by Ross.

 

Then he saw the men’s faces.

 

He didn’t know one, but the other’s features made his ribs crumble.

 

“Ross,” Peter croaked through the sandpaper in his throat. He could feel the warmth of blood on his face, probably from where he had been struck.

 

Ross acknowledged him briefly, looking almost disinterested in him. Peter tried to hold his head up from where he was lying on the hard floor, his hands restrained in front of him. He tugged again. Not moving. Ross leaned forward, taking his face in his hand gently.

 

“Stark is an idiot, letting you out.”

 

_He didn’t._

**_I_ ** _didn’t ask._

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ross said, but his grip on Peter’s face tightened and even through the haze that was the real world, Peter cringed.

 

“But I will for the betterment of this country.”

 

Ross released his face and a needle was being handed to him by the other guy. Peter felt his pulse spike, but the pain in his skull was preventing him from moving. The heaviness in his limbs was holding him down as Ross leaned forward with the syringe in hand…

 

“Don’t worry. The Raft is a rather humane place.”

 

He stuck the needle into the flesh between Peter’s neck and shoulder. Peter whimpered, despite himself, the drug crawling into his mind and making things worse.

 

The voice that followed would have been soothing if Peter didn’t know who was behind it…

 

“Go to sleep.”


	13. The Softest Memories of Mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Life is full of loss, Peter. I’m gone. You can’t control that. But you can control if you’re willing to get past this. To try to be happy, with your new life. To stop kicking and screaming every step of the way. To let Tony in, you have to let me go. I’m not here anymore. But he is. And he’s what you have now.”

On an excruciatingly hot June day when Tony was sixteen, his mother had sat him down for a lecture.

 

He had been angry, shaking, staring up into his mother’s unflinching yet kind eyes. Eyes that, no matter what he said or did wrong, still were soft and welcoming. Her mouth had been turned slightly downward into a frown as she held his chin, standing over him, inspecting the red mark on his cheek that was smarting from raising his voice at his father one too many times.

 

His mother had a way of remaining entirely neutral throughout his and his father’s quarrels. Something that dug wounds into the pit of his stomach, because even if his words had ripped into his father like knives, the man should never have hit him. But it hadn’t been the first time. Wouldn’t be the last. And Tony would swing his own blows.

 

She had pushed his hair back, still holding his face between her delicate fingers…

 

_“Your father is short-tempered. But so are you.”_

Tony hadn’t wanted to hear that, because he had never been the first to swing on his father.

 

_“There are going to be many people who wrong us in our lives, sweetheart. Good people who care about us. And sometimes…the only thing we can do is open ourselves to forgiveness.”_

His sixteen-year-old counter-part hadn’t understood, because if someone wronged him, then they didn’t deserve pity. They deserved to be cut out.

 

But standing beside Steve, after taking a break from searching for Ross’ storage facility, he thought he felt an inkling of what Maria Stark had meant by her words. Steve was staring at him, eyes shining with the pitiful look that only Captain freaking America could muster and Tony felt the urge to knock out his teeth again. Because silence had overwhelmed them the moment they had left the penthouse and started to work, but Tony knew Steve had other motives. That he was going to take advantage of having Tony’s ear.

 

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Tony beat him to the punch…

 

“Please, don’t start a heart to heart with me. I’ve already had a nice emotional talk tonight, I don’t need another. Especially not from you.”

 

The other man’s brows pulled together.

 

“You can’t just give me a second, can you?”

 

A second? No, Tony couldn’t give Steve a second, because he had already given him time. Time to admit what Barnes had done to Maria and Howard. Time to reconsider his decision to become a fugitive. Time and time and time and Tony was done giving him anything, despite the fact that Maria’s voice kept ringing loudly through his mind as he and Steve stood at odds.

 

Shaking his head, Tony questioned, “Aren’t we supposed to be looking for where Ross is storing his drugs? Isn’t that why you dragged me out here? Because I didn’t come for a therapy session. I pay someone for such as that.”

 

Tony actually wished Wilson hadn’t split off from them after dropping Cap off the terrace. There was a certain disdain for each of the turned-avengers, but it was much worse between himself and Steve. Even though a part of Tony still blamed Sam for Rhodey getting hurt. It had been Vision who had fired, but Sam who had dodged and all of it was just digging to the surface. But it was just Steve in front of him. Just Steve. The guy who he had believed was his friend.

 

Standing there. Frowning. Looking disappointed like Tony owed him something.

 

Steve sighed, “I had just hoped…That we could have a conversation.”

 

“Let me be clear,” Tony whirled on him, “I came here tonight, not to help you, but because the thought of having Ross out there makes me sick to my stomach. I didn’t come to get the ‘superfriends’ back together for a reunion tour. You know what you did.”

 

Steve shook his head, “You need to listen.”

 

“No what I need is to know where Barnes is,” Tony snapped, “But you’re not going to tell me that. I needed a friend, Cap. And instead I got stabbed in the back. Instead I got to watch _your_ friend murder my mother and father on tape, and then get the very shield that my father designed shoved into my chest.”

 

Steve fell quiet…

 

“I don’t need to listen,” Tony huffed, “I need to find evidence to convict Ross. I need to figure out how the hell I’m going to help the kid that’s sitting back at my place, waiting for someone to come home. I don’t need the Avengers, not anymore.”

 

The taller man opened his mouth, about to respond, but FRIDAY’s voice announced through Tony’s helmet, “Boss, Happy Hogan has exceeded his call attempts. He has attempted to phone you over eighty-seven times in the past six minutes.”

 

“What the hell?” Tony closed his face plate, “Why didn’t you put him through?”

 

“Your ‘do not disturb’ was still in place after Peter’s emotional upset.”

 

Biting his tongue, Tony ordered, “Put him through.”

 

A beep sounded in the metal cranium and Happy shouted, _“Tony!”_

Tony felt a bit of worry rise in him, “Yeah, Hogan, no need to shout. Please tell me you’re not lying in the street somewhere having chest pains when you should be calling 911.”

 

_“Shut up!”_ Happy was startling, causing Tony to jump in surprise, only deepening the panic. Happy’s voice continued _, “I just got a phone call from that friend of Peter’s, Ned Leeds. He says that Peter snuck out to go to Barren Mills Warehouse to get Ross on video or some shit…He…He says the line cut off, Tony. That he heard Peter shout and then a crash a-and the line…The line went dead.”_

 

Happy was in a frenzy. Tony was on the verge of it, the conversation with Steve still hanging in the air with his fear. He spoke, trying to ignore the way Cap was giving him a confused look, while keeping his voice steady, “How long ago was this?”

 

_“He called eight minutes ago, says that Peter’s phone cut off about ten-minutes before,”_ Happy responded.

 

Tony was moving to the edge of the building, Steve following. After one more confirmation from Happy as to the location, Tony hung up and turned to the man behind him. Steve asked, “What’s happening?”

 

“Peter went to Barren Mills Warehouse,” Tony sounded shaken, like he was in Afghanistan again, stumbling around in a field of bullets and explosions. He kept edging to the ledge as he explained, “His friend said that…Peter’s phone cut off. That he was trying to get a video of Ross or something. I have to go, _now_.”

 

“Let me help you,” Steve tried to hold out a hand but Tony was shaking his head, his masked face moving from side to side. He flew into the sky. No response on his lips, just extreme horror as he took off.

 

The location popped up above his eyes, and he stared at in the distance, framed by a red triangle. He put more force into the thrusters, his face set like stone as he stared dead ahead. Maybe he was the one that was going to have a heart attack, because FRIDAY’s voice spoke, “Boss, your pulse is very high.”

 

“Well, I’m freaking out a little,” Tony snapped.

 

He felt like an idiot. An absolute idiot for leaving Peter alone in the penthouse. Had the kid run off on purpose? Was he upset that Tony had left? Sure, he had seemed worried when Tony put on the suit and flew away, but he hadn’t seemed… _that_ upset. Not upset enough to run off and get himself into trouble. Tony couldn’t help the slight frustration. Just when he thought they were making progress, they were collapsing back into old routines.

 

Tony saw the glow of red, the closer he got, the brighter it became.

 

Then orange.

 

Black smoke, rising into the dark, polluted sky.

 

Tony landed, several yards away but still able to feel the heat radiating off of the warehouse…

 

It was burning.

 

Burning to the ground.

 

“FRIDAY!” Tony screamed, “Scan for lifeforms!”

 

“Scanning,” She answered and Tony waited, trying to control himself as the lights in front of him moved about the burning building. Even if…Even if Peter wasn’t alive, she would detect his body. Even…

 

No, no, no, Peter wouldn’t. Peter wouldn’t be dead.

 

Not again.

 

“No life forms detected, boss. Neither alive or deceased.”

 

Relief so strong, Tony’s legs could have given out. But, then terror.

 

Where was Peter?

 

…

 

Heartbeat.

 

He knew he was alive, just from that alone. Then, the pain followed.

 

Dead people didn’t feel pain, at least Peter was pretty sure. That was what he had always been told, anyway. That death was merciful. Empty. Painless. He remembered seeing the last Harry Potter in the cinema with Ned. He had been several years younger, but he felt connected to the orphaned character, despite Harry’s aunt and uncle being horrible and Peter’s being the best.

 

Peter remembered when Sirius Black described death being as easy as falling asleep.

 

It had given him some comfort, then that maybe his parents hadn’t suffered.

 

Uncle Ben had gasped in agony until his last breath.

 

But then again, Peter couldn’t be sure if it really hurt.

 

He let out a small sound, and when it echoed he felt a chill crawl under his pale flesh. Twisting his body, Peter tried to open his eyes against the florescent lighting, but it made him want to vomit. Rolling on his side, Peter tugged at his wrists, and felt the pull of restraints. Then, he didn’t want to open his eyes. Not if that was what he was going to be entering.

 

He stilled. Tugged again. Resistance.

 

It wasn’t as if he forgot everything that had happened. Quite the contrary. He knew every moment that had forsaken him in that warehouse, up until the wrench made contact with his temple. Then the drugs piercing his skin, and the uncomfortable feeling it washed over him. He wondered if his headache was the result of that or the fact that dried blood was clinging to the wound on his head.

 

Then a boot was pressing down slowly on his side and Peter groaned when he tried to expand his chest. Finally, he snapped his large brown eyes open, blearily blinking up against the light and the two figures standing above him. The boot removed itself and a terrifyingly familiar voice ordered:

 

“Time to wake up.”

 

Peter turned his head, staring at his wrists that were raw and bound with thick-metal shackles. Attached to a chain. Into the floor. Just like all of the other restraints that these people had chosen to use on him. The back of his shirt was grabbed and he was yanked into a sitting position, nearly falling over, but he opted to hold himself upright with his hands in front of him. He knew if he didn’t, the awful person above him would hurt him more.

 

Peter croaked, “R-Ro…Ross.”

 

“Good,” Ross nodded down at him, the man in a white lab coat beside him silent, “You remember.”

 

Peter’s head moved around the room, taking it in. It wasn’t large, by any means, but big enough for the three of them to fit comfortably enough. The walls were cement and white except for the one to his left that was glass with bars over it. Peter whispered, “Where…?”

 

He needed water. Everything was rough.

 

Ross almost looked irritatingly proud as he said, “The most secure level of the Raft. Only qualified personnel know of its existence. It seemed appropriate, with this…inconvenient investigation I’ve been placed under.”

 

The fifteen-year-old gasped when Ross gripped his hair and pulled his head so far back, Peter thought his neck was going to crack under the strain. Ross bit out coldly, “The investigation that wouldn’t have happened if Stark had minded his own business.”

 

Peter let out a breath when he was released and his body nearly crumbled. Taking in several irregular gulps of air, Peter whispered, “P…People will come for me…Someone will c-come for me.”

 

He shot Ross a look, trying to be brave, but his heart was deceiving him, “You’ll be arrested…Put away…Forever.”

 

“Your optimism is admirable, kiddo,” Ross folded his hands behind his back, beginning to pace in front of the teenager, “But I have men who are loyal to me. And they won’t reveal my location. Like I said, this level of the Raft is secure. Few know about it. All of that is for a reason.”

 

 Ross held out a hand to the man next to him, and the guy in the lab coat handed over a small, inhaler-looking objects. He stopped directly over Peter and showed it to the teenager before questioning him, “Do you know what this is?”

 

Peter blinked, “An…asthma inhaler?”

 

“Not exactly,” Ross looked irritated by the response, “What’s inside of it is what’s important. I assume you remember the drug you were given that night in front of the café, correct?”

 

Peter gulped…How could he forget? The nerve pain. The headaches. The remnants were still with him.

 

He said nothing as Ross shook the inhaler, “You had a very…fascinating response to it. Different from other mutants. It didn’t make you aggressive towards other people, more so…It made you extremely ill. I started wondering, if it affects you in this way, then surely there are other mutants who would react the same as you did…”

 

“So…” Before Peter could respond, Ross went on, “I had them make another altered version. Doctor Briggs here has been working tirelessly to get us a new sample. When we caught you in the warehouse tonight, I thought…What better way to make use of you than to test it?”

 

Peter’s heart rate spiked suddenly, “I-It almost _killed_ me last time.”

 

Ross kneeled down in front of him…

 

“Then…if you’re religious…I suggest you pray.”

 

Peter didn’t get time to respond. Ross grabbed the back of his head and pressed the inhaler to his face, pressing down the top. A puff of air escaped it, and Peter’s thought was ‘this isn’t how these things work’ before it tore into his windpipe and his eyes almost immediately began to pour with tears. The burning was familiar. He remembered it vividly, after being hit with the gas that night. It was like a suppressed memory had been awoken in his bones.

 

His wrists yanked. He felt the metal cut into them harshly.

 

Every muscle in Peter’s body went rigid and he wailed, flopping onto his side like a fish out of water.

 

Clawing out his eyes wasn’t an option.

 

He couldn’t reach.

 

Looking down at his fingernails, he saw Uncle Ben’s blood drying under them. Clumped together in a mass of brown and clots of black. The smell of the discharged fire-arm followed behind the singe of the drug in his nose and he felt his uncle’s hand touch his face, warm with blood, with death, and love, and nothing all in his index finger.

 

_“Don’t cry. Don’t be scared, Pete.”_

Peter had cried anyway, that night. He had sobbed until the police officers had pulled him away with the strength of five men, because Peter’s powers were only a few weeks old then. He hadn’t realized he was holding so tightly.

 

The blood spilled onto the sidewalk and stained his sneakers that he had gotten for Christmas.

 

They had seemed important at one point.

 

Peter screamed his throat raw, the florescent lights swallowing him up.

 

_“Don’t be scared.”_

He had nodded, with his uncle’s hand on his face, staining it with crimson.

 

But Peter hadn’t listened. Because he had been terrified.

 

 

…

 

Tony had spent the better part of that night, ignoring phone calls and scouring the city.

 

His mind was framed and blurred with a rage he thought only _he_ could feel. Because Tony felt it burning from deep within, producing a fire that couldn’t be extinguished with comforting words or help, so that was why the phone calls remained unanswered. The moment he had realized that his ‘do not disturb’ had caused him to miss two phone calls from Peter, the guilt had risen like bile, and the anger had soared.

 

Something was strangling him, grabbing him by his windpipe. The sun had come up thirty-minutes prior to him shooting back into the sky. The warehouse was empty. Burned to the ground and the firefighters hadn’t found anything and neither had Tony. Everything had been moved and he wondered if there was a point to turning the structure to ash, but everything Ross did seemed to have a meaning, so Tony didn’t question it further because he knew it was bound to make his head pound with confusion.

 

He just wanted to absorb the rage he was feeling, because he was going to kill Ross and he needed the nerve to do it when he finally found the man. Roll in the anger. Let it be useful later. It hurt, almost to the extent that he couldn’t stand it, because a part of him wanted to break down and panic. But that wasn’t going to get Peter back and Tony swore…for every hair on Peter’s head that was out of place, that would be a strike to Ross’ skull.

 

When he landed on his terrace, after a night of finding nothing, and feeling the anger that ‘only he could feel’, he wasn’t surprised to see the figures waiting for him in his kitchen. They were standing around like they belonged there. Like they had never stopped being a part of his pretend family. They had been calling him nonstop, so it made sense.

 

Natasha was sitting on the counter, looking as passive as usual with the entire ordeal, while Steve and Sam stood on either side of her. Rhodey and Pepper though were on the other side of the room, and again, Tony felt the nagging question to ask where Wanda was, but he didn’t know if he could take any more stress than he already was experiencing and he just wanted them out. Gone. But the logical part, the part that wasn’t shrouded by betrayal, knew that if he wanted Peter back in one piece, he had to be civil.

 

The look that Pepper shot him upon his entrance said the same thing.

 

Tony stepped out of his suit and crossed the living room, clearing his throat and trying to speak past the knot in it, “Oh look, my fiancée and my friend let the vermin in. Well there’s cheese in the fridge, but look out for the traps I put out.”

 

Natasha tilted her head, “What an odd thing to say to people who want to help you.”

 

Tony stopped at the top of the two steps and nearly combusted right there. Turned to ash on the pristine floors. He raised his index finger, “That’s funny, because my last memory of you says otherwise.”

 

His finger then moved to Steve and he continued, “Especially him.”

 

“Is it really so hard for you to ask for help?” Sam tried, but Steve put a hand on his arm to stop him, beginning to step forward. Tony gave him a steel look, stopping him in his tracks from coming any closer. Tony had practically ignored the man on the roof earlier, but the tautness in his shoulders let on that he would not be cast aside again.

 

Steve tried, “This kid… _Your_ kid is missing, Tony. Please, let us help you. We want to help.”

 

“To stop Ross, right?” Tony’s voice was bitter, “I’m going to need you not to use Peter as an excuse. You want to stop Ross. You want the satisfaction of putting him away because you just despise the Accords that much. So you can say you were right and I was wrong. Go ahead. But don’t hide behind Peter.”

 

“Not everything is about your ego,” Natasha hopped down off the counter, “We’ve been tracking mutants for months, trying to save them before Ross could get to them and use that drug to hurt people. This kid is no different. If anything, it’s more important that we find him. Because he’s yours and we were your friends. Still are, on our side of things.”

 

Tony’s eyes narrowed, “Friendships aren’t one-sided ventures.”

 

“Tony!” Pepper snapped suddenly and his head whipped in hers and Rhodey’s direction and Rhodey looked slightly startled at the angry woman beside him. She continued harshly, “Let them help. _Let_ them.”

 

She looked immensely frazzled and Tony felt his lungs deflate. The chest match with Steve forgotten. Her eyes were red with unshed tears and her shoulders were shaking. Guiltily, Tony remembered…remembered that he was not the only person on the planet who cared whether Peter lived or died. Pepper had been here the whole time. Had been comforting Peter in ways Tony wasn’t capable of doing himself.

 

Tony relented. Looked at the ground, and then back towards Steve and the others, “Fine. You three can help. But when we get him back, I want you all gone. Away from us.”

 

His eyes caught Steve’s, “I haven’t forgotten about Barnes.”

 

“If you want our help you have to trust us,” Sam insisted.

 

Rhodey scoffed, gesturing to the mechanics on his legs, “You’ll have to forgive us for being a bit wary.”

 

Sam’s face rushed with shame. Tony knew it wasn’t completely Wilson’s fault, _really_. Vision had been the one to fire, but it had been so much easier to blame Sam, because Sam had been on the other team. Sam had been fighting against them. Vision had gotten ‘distracted’ or whatever. Everyone was at fault, but it was so much easier to blame someone else.

 

“Personal feelings aside,” Natasha held up a hand, “You’re agreeing to let us fight with you. Which is wise, considering Ross has men that are remaining loyal to him. They’re probably helping him hide as we waste time speaking to one another.”

 

Steve shook his head, “What would Ross even want with Peter?”

 

“Leverage?” Sam suggested.

 

“No,” Rhodey’s voice sounded sure, and Tony blinked at him, confused, “ _No_ , Ross was fascinated. After the whole thing at the café, I could tell that he was confused as to why Peter didn’t try to kill any of us. I mean, even with Cap holding him down, he should have been more aggressive…Like the others.”

 

Tony felt the blood rush out of his face and his laughed bitterly, “ _Great_. So, he has the kid somewhere, experimenting on him. Like a lab rat.”

 

He moved into the living room a bit, running his hands through his hair, shutting his eyes, keeping his back turned to the others. He tried to rub out the threatening migraine from his skull. Caffeine withdraw and stress were starting to bite at his brain and things felt foggy. The inching to a panic attack, being shoved back down, like sitting outside of his car when his suit wasn’t freaking charging and it had been so cold then, like it was now-

 

“Tony?” Rhodey said.

 

He turned to face the group. They looked concerned.

 

Tony sighed, “Continue.”

 

Natasha’s face, the only one not pulled into that of worry, remained stoic as she spoke, “There’s only one place that Ross would be completely protected by those remaining loyal to him.”

 

Everyone was silent.

 

“His pride and joy…The Raft,” Natasha finished.

 

Sam scratched the back of his neck, and Tony knew it was because he was the only one in the room who had experienced its inhospitality first hand. The Raft. In the middle of the water. Submerged in some instances. Tony could have laughed with horror. Insanity that was creeping deeper and deeper into his blood. Digging in scythes and ripping.

 

Tony was surprised when Pepper was the first to speak…

 

“I don’t care what you have to do,” Her tone was sharp, her eyes glazed and scanning over each person in the room, “You find that boy, and you bring him back.”

 

Her heels echoed, and silence consumed.

 

…

 

Peter was standing in the middle of an empty street.

 

Snow lined the edges of the sidewalk, beginning to melt away, but the temperature hadn’t quite risen enough yet. The black concrete shone with dampness and the moonlight rebounded off of it sharply. Peter’s limbs felt numb and cold, his breath coming out in puffy clouds in front of his face. His nose was running slightly, and he sniffed, blinking, wind threatening to cut through his skin like glass.

 

His shoes were gone. Peter wondered why. Why he was barefoot in his pajamas, his feet dirty like he had been running through downtown Queens with nothing to cover them. Or why the memory of such an event poked at the back of his mind.

 

Peter was in the middle of the road, staring straight ahead.

 

Wracking his brain, he tried to remember how he had gotten there. The events leading up to this. His favorite Thai place was to his left, and usually this part of Queens was bustling with life. There weren’t even cars parallel parked near the stores and restaurants. There was no one, what so ever, besides the lights shining from the buildings. Polluting the stars above.

 

_Where are my shoes?_

His toes were turning pink.

 

“Hi baby.”

 

Peter’s spine went stiff. If possible, he felt colder, a chill leaving him with gooseflesh. He turned, facing the restaurant to the left, purple lights from the sign out front illuminating the source of the voice as she stepped off the sidewalk and out into the road in front of him. She was smiling, but it looked strained. Like when Peter would talk about all of the cool things Mr. Stark would show him at the shop and he thought in those times that it hurt her, that he was so close to someone else.

 

“Aunt May?”

 

Her eyes were sad behind her glasses, but the forced smile remained untouched. Her hair was long, and a week before she had died she had been saying how she planned to cut it all off soon. It was getting too hard to take care of.

 

Tilting her head slightly, she stood only about a foot in front of him. Close enough for him to feel a sort of warmth from her. Peter felt his eyes burning, the urge to hug her nearly taking over, but he found his body was stiff and he couldn’t move. It was weird, but the cloudiness of the situation made him not question the fact.

 

“H-How…?” Peter croaked, “How are you here?”

 

A knot formed in his throat as she shook her head, “I was going to pick up something to eat…After my book club.”

 

She paused and then continued, “Where have you been?”

 

Peter shook his head, “I-I’ve been…With Mr. Stark…I…Aunt May, I’ve missed you.”

 

“I know,” If anything, her sad smile got worse and disappointment gleamed, “I know the way you acted…The way you _reacted_ , when you were adopted. The way you _hated_ Tony…For giving you his last name.”

 

She said nothing else and Peter felt tears form, one escaping down his cheek, “N-no! Aunt May, you don’t understand, you don’t…I can explain everything.”

 

“I’m the one who raised you, you know?” May whispered, reaching out and touching his tear stained face, “I’ve never seen you in so much pain. Suffering like this. Over thinking… _Believing_ your uncle and I would hate you for not sharing our name…Peter, do you really think so little of us?”

 

Peter reached up and covered her hand with his. She was warm. _Alive_. But something about all of this seemed wrong as he spoke, his tone trembling, “I don’t...That’s not true.”

 

“Isn’t it though?” She continued to hold that smile. That sad, sad smile. “You thought blood would mean so little and a name would mean so much.”

 

Peter couldn’t take it. He screamed hoarsely, “You don’t understand!”

 

She lowered her hand, and pulled it from his grasp as he practically begged, “Please, listen to me...P-please, I…Never intended for any of this. Never. Aunt May, I didn’t want anyone to have to be stuck with me. I-I didn’t want to lose my name and for yours and Uncle Ben’s to d-disappear. I never, never, never wanted any of this.”

 

Nodding, she questioned, “And is that why you hurt them? People who try to help you. Anyone willing to sacrifice things for you, you _fight_ them. Leaving people like Tony wondering what they’re doing wrong. Disobeying. Sneaking out. _Over and over_. Rejecting words from someone that is trying to protect you. Wallowing in your pain.”

 

Peter’s chest hurt, “I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t mean to hurt Tony. I-I want to fix things with him. I want to try to…go forward. I just didn’t want to _lose_ you. And I thought those papers would take you away. A-and I was so angry…that he took the suit. Because there was nothing…there was no way for me to escape. It’s so quiet in that penthouse. When I was putting my effort...into something else...I felt like I could finally  _breathe_.”

 

She sighed…

 

“Life is full of loss, Peter. I’m gone. You can’t control that. But you can control if you’re willing to get past this. To try to be happy, with your new life. To stop kicking and screaming every step of the way. To let Tony in, you have to let me _go_. I’m not here anymore. But he is. And he’s what you have now.”

 

Headlights flashed in Peter’s vision to his right. His head turned just in time to watch the car fly in front of him and slam into May’s body, throwing her over the hood like a rag doll. The glass shattered, the car skidding to a stop as she went over the roof of the vehicle and landed directly in front of Peter’s bare feet on the pavement. Her head was gushing, leg turned at an odd angle. He could smell burning rubber, from the force of the tires stopping. Copper filled his nose as well and the sight made him nauseous.

 

Peter fell to his knees.

 

He screamed.

 

Peter woke that way, a shrill sound escaping him as cold water was poured over his head and he gasped, the liquid filling his nose as he was blinded by bright florescent lights and torn into sobs wracking his body. He gagged, several times, before he actually vomited onto the white, cement floor below him. His fingernails broke when they dug in and his hair plastered to his forehead. He tried to move it out of his eyes, but his hands were still bound to the ground by the chain and his wrists were bleeding from the force of each pull.

 

Inconsolable. Withering and shivering on the cold, damp, bile covered floor. Peter looked up through squinted eyes, taking in Ross and the man in the white coat. Ross was holding a bucket in his hands and Peter supposed that was where the water came from, though in that instance he wasn’t exactly sure of anything anymore.

 

“Wake up. We’re trying a different dosage.”

 

“No,” Peter bit back, slamming his wrists into the ground.

 

Twice he had been dosed. Twice it had induced horrific dreams. It was a stark change from the darkness of the first time he had been drugged. Whatever this stuff was, it was cruel and it was vicious. It dug into every crease of his mind. Everything that was hidden by fear and worry. Things that he didn’t even know lived within him.

 

Ross kneeled beside him, and Peter lowered his head, trying to hide his mouth and nose, like a child not wanting to take his medicine. He gasped out, “Please, stop. Stop.”

 

The man grabbed Peter by his hair and forced his head up. Peter felt too weak to fight back, just giving out a quiet whimper as his head was lifted. Peter croaked, “Y-you have a daughter. But you’re t…torturing _kids_.”

 

“I’m giving her a better future,” Ross spoke sharply, “She’s an adult now. I can’t protect her as much as I would like to anymore. One day she might have children of her own. I’m going to give them hope.”

 

The hand in Peter’s hair tightened and he hissed in discomfort as Ross continued, more to himself this time, “I don’t understand, why you’re different. Why it’s making you wither, not aggressive.”

 

“I wasn’t _born_ like this,” Tears escaped, despite Peter’s attempt to not cry more than he already had, “I was turned into it.”

 

Peter felt like his flesh was melting from his bones. Ross raised the inhaler again and Peter attempted to yank his head down, but it was forced into his face and the puff of drug escaped again into his nostrils and mouth.

 

He felt his body go stiff. Seize.

 

May’s head was gashed open, glass sticking in all directions under his palms as he kneeled beside her.

 

Then nothing.

 

…

 

Tony raised his hand and the blueprints to the Raft popped up into the workshop, close to the ceiling and glowing neon in the dimmed lighting to make it appear brighter for everyone to see. They all stepped back in surprise, besides Natasha who stood directly to his left. She seemed to be the only one willing to get close to Tony, besides Rhodey. Steve and Sam kept their distance. Maybe not from fear, but from guilt. Natasha though, had done much worse.

 

Betraying Tony wasn’t even on her list of ‘worst things I’ve ever done’ and Tony knew it.

 

Rhodey coughed in surprised as he processed what they were staring at…

 

“Where the hell did you get this?”

 

“Saved them,” Tony’s gaze moved to Sam, even though he was speaking to Rhodey, “After my last run in with the place.”

 

Sam’s eyes narrowed. Despite the fact that Tony hadn’t been lying when he had told Sam he was going to Siberia as a friend, that wasn’t how things had ended. It had ended with the entire ordeal of him trying to kill Barnes, but really, he hadn’t lied to Sam. It had started like that…It really had. He didn’t expect the video. He didn’t expect any of it.

 

Tony then turned his eyes to Rhodey and went on, “I scanned the place, when I went in. Just as a precautionary measure, in case I ever needed it again. Really hadn’t expected to. But…Here we are.”

 

He then moved his hands in the air and the holographic blueprint zoomed forward. Tony explained, “Since we know that people are out looking for Ross but he hasn’t been detained, even though they’ve cleared out the Raft, we can guess that he’s hiding in a portion of the facility that officials wouldn’t think to look…Or wouldn’t _know_ to look.”

 

Tony pointed at one section in particular. An odd place, tucked away in the lower portions of the prison. The outer walls of the sketch appeared thicker, darker, than the rest of the outlines. Steve tilted his head curiously, stepping forward so that Tony could see his eyes glowing through the other side of the hologram.

 

“Bomb shelter?” Steve questioned.

 

Tony shrugged, “I was thinking more like a clubhouse. My guess is he built it specifically for ‘shady’ use. That’s where we’ll need to get. If he’s…if he’s experimenting on Peter, that’s where he’ll be holding him. So that he wouldn’t be confiscated with the rest of the prisoners. And Ross’ own location wouldn’t be compromised.”

 

“He’s clever,” Natasha shrugged, raising an eyebrow up at Tony, “How’re we going to get in? I doubt he has much security anymore, with officials shutting the place down to continue the investigation…But I’m sure there’s still some loyalists hanging around.”

 

Tony blinked at her like it was obvious, “I know you typically prefer the sneaky route, Ms. James Bond, but I was thinking we’d just blow the lid off.”

 

“Blow the…” Sam’s jaw dropped, “You realize that thing is surrounded by water, right? I don’t know about your Iron Man suit, but my wings don’t particularly work well while I’m _drowning_.”

 

Holding up a hand, Tony said, “Cool it, Icarus, I’m not going to do it while the Raft is submerged. You think I’m an idiot? I’ll wait for it to surface.”

 

“How’re you going to do that?” Steve chimed in.

 

Tony frowned…

 

“Well…I might have to coerce them a bit beforehand. Nothing _too_ dramatic.”


	14. The Conventional Ethics of Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Rich coming from you,” Tony knew he wasn’t being fair. Nat hadn’t done anything, she was trying to reinvent herself, but he just couldn’t…couldn’t understand why they didn’t understand. How they could look at Peter and not want to kill Ross right then and there.
> 
> Natasha’s response was blunt, dull, “I’ve had to learn this lesson many times over. You’ll feel better for a minute. Maybe a few days even. But the blood always ends up under your fingernails again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a few days! I just kept rewriting it. I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think. Love you guys xx

Peter didn’t know when he had decided he was going to fight back.

 

Maybe it was after the fourth dose. Or the fifth. Or the sixth. They all seemed to be running together, mixed with colors and nightmares and Aunt May’s voice telling him over and over again what he had been doing wrong and then the crash of the vehicle slamming into her body. Or the sound of the gunshot that took Uncle Ben away ringing through the air. Sometimes they intermingled. Turned into the same sound.

 

Glass shattering and soundwaves tearing past a bullet.

 

He knew it had been after someone had come and cleaned the vomit from the floor. Ross had complained about the smell, but Peter was unaware of most things. The wound on his head had healed some time ago, but the drug was making his body wither in excruciating pain. So the thought of fighting back had come around without much hope. His wrists were still bound to the cement floor. Bloody. Each time his healing closed the wounds, he would yank and they would reopen.

 

Then he realized the hope had stemmed from the way the metal chains were slowly beginning to give way under his dedication. More so, under his strength.

 

The hurt was worth it. His head pounding was worth it. If it meant getting out of there. If it meant not being dosed again and having to look into the eyes of the aunt he had disappointed with his behavior towards Tony. If it meant he could go fix things. Make them better. Make himself and her happy. Ask to be happy.

 

He didn’t need permission for such as that, but he had to _ask_. Because Peter hadn’t asked to leave the penthouse. And he had ended up on the Raft. That was what happened to people like him. Who were angry, irreparably so.

 

Peter tugged again, the metal groaning.

 

Slowly, Peter lifted his head and glanced up at the barred, window wall. The only thing that wasn’t blindingly white in the room. Swallowing thickly, he saw no one outside. They would be coming back soon, though. He knew they would. Time was messed up, that was for sure, but it was clear that they were doing intervals. About an hour between doses. Enough time for him to drift back into consciousness.

 

Peter really didn’t know if his reaction to the drug was pleasing or disappointing Ross.

 

Either way, it was a tortuous process and Ross couldn’t be made happy.

 

When he saw no one, Peter gave a sharp yank, the metal finally giving way. His arms shook with some kind of energy that almost blurred the drugs for a moment. Just a moment. Hurriedly, he replaced the chain, making it appear as if he were still strapped to the floor. He couldn’t try to leave, not yet.

 

It wasn’t the time for escaping, despite how much he wanted to. Because of the terror in his gut. A terror he hadn’t felt in so long.

 

His fingers wrapped around the chain and he waited.

 

That was the most difficult part. Not breaking the chain, but the waiting after doing so. Fighting down his self-preservation instincts. Especially when he heard the familiar beep of the door beginning to slide open. He knew then that they were coming. Peter’s solitude was over. A new dosage would be given. The world would go away and he would hurt again. His nerves would burn. Everything horrible would be dug up.

 

The man in the white coat entered as well and Peter laid on his side. Motionless, not turning to watch them. He felt Ross getting closer, his shadow casting over Peter like an omen. The man kneeled beside him, and shone a flashlight in his eyes.

 

“You awake in there?”

 

Peter was clearly awake. Aware, that might not have been so obvious since he hadn’t moved to acknowledge him. The past few times he had still been dipped deeply within the effects of the drugs. Had begged Ross to stop. To get away and give him some kind of rest. A little more recovery time. But now…Now he was empty. Desperate. Ready to fight.

 

Ross leaned closer and snapped, “I’m talking to you.”

 

“Get…” Peter breathed, nearly choking because the rawness of his voice from screaming was almost too much, “G-get…”

 

Ross tilted his head curiously. Peter’s hands wrapped tighter around the chains as he pressed the words out…

 

“Get the _fuck_ away from me.”

 

It sounded feral in his own ears. Not like himself at all. Not Peter. Ross looked surprised, but Peter didn’t relish in it, because he used what strength he had left in his body to swing the chain upward, slamming it against the side of Ross’ face. It sent the man sprawling, and Peter screamed in pain as he sat up fully, stumbling to his feet. Ross’ cheek was bleeding, gushing down his face. He was stunned and Peter felt like a newborn deer trying to find his footing.

 

He had to go. Go. Go. Go.

 

Swinging the chain again, Peter tried to hit the man in the white coat, but he stumbled out of the room, shouting in surprise. Everything felt like it was moving slowly to Peter, but in all reality the movement had been rather quick. The guy was surprised and Peter used it to his advantage when he tackled him to the ground outside of the cell.

 

The doctor screamed, and Peter couldn’t see straight. He didn’t have a plan. The ‘idea’ was to fight. And fight _more_. Nothing past that. If he was on the Raft, where was he going to go? More thought needed to go into it, but Peter’s mind was too drugged to be of any use. He just wanted to hurt these people. These people who had hurt _him_. He wanted them dead, bloody and it wasn’t Peter. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t human.

 

Peter’s fingers were on flesh, tightening. The form below him was choking, making a horrific sound Peter had never heard before. The edges of Peter’s vision were red. Closing. The body spasming, clawing at Peter’s raw wrists. He squeezed tighter, a few tears slipping from his own eyes, because he wanted to crush the doctor’s windpipe, but it was wrong and something was telling him not to squeeze too hard. Not to crush the windpipe, despite his desperate want.

 

These people had hurt him. Over and over again.

 

He had watched Aunt May be hit by that car, _over and over again_.

 

Had watched Uncle Ben be shot _over and over again_.

 

Because of the doctor and because of Ross. Ross’ face had bled which meant he wasn’t a complete monster. He was a person. There was a soul under that skin. People that were nothing didn’t bleed. They weren’t people at all.

 

And they didn’t need to breathe either. But the doctor was stilling below his hands and Jesus, Peter was being brutal. Psychotic. _Not_ Peter. Not himself. But they had _hurt_ him so much, his lungs and throat burned. Peter screamed, and he thought…He wanted them to die. He wanted them to die under his hands, but that was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

 

Peter wasn’t this. He wasn’t a killer.

 

He was Peter. He was fifteen. He was the son of Mary and Richard Parker. Of Benjamin and May Parker.

 

Of Tony Stark.

 

And he was never going to get to tell Tony that he was sorry. Sorry for rejecting him. Sorry for fighting tooth and nail and for not being thankful. Because that was all the Dream May seemed to tell him. That he had been wrong. But even knowing all this Peter couldn’t tighten his hands anymore.

 

Loosening his fingers, Peter released the doctor’s throat.

 

The doctor let in a croaked gasp of air, oxygen entering his lungs, rattling against his expanding ribs.

 

“You little shit.”

 

Peter turned his head, seeing Ross standing behind him, holding something in his hand. Something shiny and metal in the lights. Ross’ cheek was bleeding from where the chain had broken skin and whatever Ross was holding slammed into Peter’s own cheek. Mirroring Ross’ wound, Peter felt his face open up and he fell to the side, off the doctor.

 

Except it didn’t stop at one hit. It was followed by another. And then another.

 

Until the blows became painless and the edges of the world blurred into one.

 

…

 

It wasn’t that Tony had expected the jet ride to not be awkward.

 

Maybe he had thought there would be small talk. At least Steve, Natasha, and Sam speaking to one another and Tony speaking to Rhodey. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead it was dead silent, a sullen nostalgia reigning over them. They were all well aware of the two members that were missing. The two members that should have been there. But Thor was God knows where and Hulk was long gone.

 

The team was cracked in half. Vision had been left at the Compound. Tony hadn’t even bothered to inform him of the situation. If he could spare Vision anymore stress after the whole thing with Wanda leaving, he was going to try. And the other members still had yet to tell Tony where Wanda was. Tony pretended he wasn’t curious.

 

Rain slammed into the glass, and Tony stared ahead. The jet was practically flying itself at this point, but it didn’t hurt to pretend, really, it didn’t. Not if it kept him out of the back where he had basically abandoned Rhodey only a few feet away. Natasha was pacing. Kept getting close like she was going to say something, then retreating again.

 

It was funny because Natasha never retreated from anything.

 

She must have heard that thought ring through his head, because when he turned again, she was standing so close he could feel warmth radiating off of her. She was adjacent to his chair and Tony’s brows pulled downward and he frowned.

 

“What?” Tony asked.

 

How she could keep such a steady exterior, after everything that had happened, he didn’t know. How any of them could just pretend, _he didn’t know_. She took the co-pilot’s chair, humming as she did so and turned to face out at the stormy weather. Tony gripped the arm rests, tempted to tell her to go the hell away, because he wanted to be alone.

 

_Only Rhodey can sit up front._

There was something elementary about it all.

 

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m surprised. Whether or not it’s pleasant, I haven’t decided.”

 

Tony blinked at her, “I don’t recall asking.”

 

Tsking, she tilted her head, “Please, for just a second, pretend to be a normal human being.”

 

Wow. She sounded like Murdock. Tony wanted to cringe. He asked curiously, returning the conversation to her train of thought, “Alright. Pretending. What are you surprised about?”

 

“The adoption,” A smirk played on her lips, but her eyes held something else that Tony could not read, because Natasha was vague, always, always, and Tony was just too old and tired to play along anymore. Maybe five years ago, but not now. Not with a kid underwater somewhere, hanging out with a maniac that had a drug. Her voice was low, amused, “Tony Stark, taking in an orphan from Queens. When I met the boy in Germany, I didn’t think he meant anything to you. He was funny. Nice.”

 

Her smirk turned into a fond smile, “He reminded me of Clint’s children. I felt sorry for him, actually. Because when I spoke to him, he was so excited to be there. To impress you. I didn’t think he’d crack your exterior.”

 

“I told him not to talk to you,” Tony said.

 

“I know,” Natasha confirmed, “That’s why _I_ talked to _him_. He didn’t put up much of a fight though. I knew who he was the moment I saw the newspaper articles. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Steve or Sam, they figured it out on their own. Slowly…But they can be dense at times and Steve didn’t want to think you had actually brought a fourteen-year-old to Germany.”

 

Tony looked away, “He’s fifteen.”

 

“But at the time?” She questioned.

 

Nodding, “Okay, fourteen. Barely.”

 

Natasha got a faraway look in her eyes. Even though Tony didn’t know a whole lot about her childhood, he knew enough to know why she looked like that. Why there was pain, etching into her features, but then disappearing just as soon as it had come, because Tony was not one of the people she freely expressed herself to. He probably never would be.

 

She then sighed, “He seems capable. _Very_ young. But strong. Smart.”

 

Tony could hear slight judgement there as he defended, “If it had been up to me, he never would have gone into this kind of life, you know? When I found him, he was doing it anyway, and I thought that if I gave him a suit it could keep him alive. Now I regret it. I wish I had never given him the stupid suit. And I never want to give it back, but I know I will one day because he’s not going to stop.”

 

“Like you,” It wasn’t a question.

 

_“I don’t want to stop.”_

That conversation had been Pepper’s to hear, but Natasha could read even the most closed off people like an open book. Tony didn’t confirm her assumption, because she was already well aware of what the answer would be. Peter was like Tony, but also immensely different. Peter had more empathy and kindness in him at fifteen than Tony had now, pushing fifty. Peter let himself feel childish excitement, whereas Tony had drowned his in liquor bottles. After Peter had lost everyone, he had become self-sacrificial. After Tony had lost everyone he had become more selfish than he had ever been.

 

That last part was what stunned him. What made him worry so deeply for Peter. The amount of injuries Peter had sustained and the dangerous situations he had placed himself in were far more often now than before May died. Sometimes… _Sometimes_ Tony worried the kid would do something stupid. _Intentionally_ stupid. Just to get hurt.

 

It seemed Natasha was reading his mind, because she hummed, “He’s not holding up well.”

 

“He’s trying,” Tony swallowed, glancing out the rain pelted windshield of the jet, “Which is more than I can ask.”

 

Natasha leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees. Tony gave her a side-eye and sighed, “Please, don’t make this a heart to heart. You are the last person I need to have one of those with, Romanoff.”

 

“It’s not,” Natasha sniffed, “I was just going to tell you that I’ve decided on what the surprise is for me. It’s pleasant.”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes, “Wow, I’m so relieved. I thought I was going to have to return him to the shelter if you disapproved.”

 

Natasha smirked, “Steve said you were just as thick headed as always.”

 

Holding up his index finger, Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Natasha cut him off, “Yes, he told me about the conversation on the roof. The one in the penthouse too. I know you don’t want to hear Steve out, but-“

 

“No,” Tony snapped, “This is about Peter. About saving him. I’m not here to reconcile, alright? I…I can’t do that right now. I can’t _think_ about that right now, not when the kid needs me.”

 

And that was that. Natasha leaned backward, aware that Tony had been serious when he had told Steve that he wasn’t looking to get the ‘superfriends’ back together. Not yet anyway. Maybe when Ross was detained. Or if they ever decided to tell him where Barnes was. If Tony could get over the fact that Barnes had killed his parents, but had been brainwashed to do it. And Tony knew this. He wasn’t that cruel. It was just hard to…differentiate between the two Barnes.

 

Like it was hard to differentiate between happy Peter and pretend happy Peter.

 

Tony jumped when the screen in front of him beeped and flashed red, indicating that they were nearly right above the submerged craft. Natasha called behind herself and Tony heard the sound of footsteps coming up. He didn’t need to glance to know he was being crowded by the other two Rogue Avengers and Rhodey, all looking over his shoulder as he typed.

 

“So, it’s down there?” Steve questioned.

 

Tony nodded in response and continued to type until Sam asked, “Okay…Where’s your coercion? Aren’t you going to like…Talk to them, or something?”

 

Raising an eyebrow towards Natasha, she sighed and explained for Tony while the engineer worked, “There’s not really anyone left to talk to. Since the investigation started, the Raft’s employees and prisoners have all been evacuated. It was pretty much shut down so the government could collect evidence on Ross’…extracurricular activities. But, like we said back at Tony’s, we’re pretty positive that Ross is hiding in the ‘clubhouse’. That’s how the investigators missed him.”

 

Sam’s brows pulled together, “We aren’t jumping in, are we?! I mean, I can fly, but I don’t want to take a dunk.”

 

Rhodey laughed, “No Wilson. Calm down.”

 

Something on the screen that Tony was typing flashed green and a pleasant beeping resounded through the cabin. He looked out the glass and through the rain he could see the Raft below beginning to raise slowly to the surface. Tony turned to face the others. Steve and Sam were both blinking with confused expressions and Tony shrugged, “I said it wouldn’t be dramatic. Just had to log into their systems and raise it myself.”

 

It took a few moments for the floating island to surface completely, but when it did, Tony steadied the aircraft right above it. His finger hovered over a button to his right and then he chuckled, “This is where it gets dramatic.”

 

“Wh-,” Steve started, but Tony pressed the button.

 

The jet jolted as the bullet shaped bomb dropped from the belly of the aircraft. There was silence, besides the whirling of the engines and the rain until suddenly a harsh explosion rang out from below. A gulp of fire flew up, sending the jet into a cloud of black for a moment until it dissipated.

 

“You weren’t joking about blowing the lid off,” Rhodey commented.

 

In a normal situation, Tony probably wouldn’t have. Wouldn’t have endangered Peter in that way. But the clubhouse within would be well protected. Tony was just praying the kid wasn’t anywhere near the surface, but if he knew Ross, and he did, Peter wouldn’t be. Ross probably wasn’t exactly positive of what Peter was capable of. Still didn’t know about Spider-Man. 

 

He'd have Peter contained.

 

Tony started lowering the jet downward towards the Raft. The rain was continuing to beat down and was now flowing into the opened top. It wasn’t a clean explosion by any means. It was difficult landing the craft inside all of the debris and the smoke that was stirred up, but the rain was helpful in the way of keeping the fire contained and controlling the amount of pollutant in the air. They landed with a jerk, landing on a pile of unstable metal. However, it soon steadied and Tony was the first to stand from his seat, moving to his suit and climbing inside.

 

Rhodey did the same while asking, “Do we have a plan?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony replied, “Find Ross, kick his ass, and get Peter back.”

 

As he pressed the button to lower the hangar, Steve put a hand on his metal arm, “I think we need something a little more…well thought out than that.”

 

The mask was still open, so Tony didn’t hesitate to shoot Steve the stupidest look he could muster. He snapped, “How specific do you want, Cap? Because if you guys want to stay here and talk game plan, go ahead, but I’m not leaving that kid in there for even an extra minute. Not to risk Ross moving him or doing something awful, because we all know this wasn’t a very discreet entrance. There’s no telling how Ross is going to react to us being here.”

 

He paused before continuing, “And I’m not going to lose Peter when we’re this close.”

 

Tony shut the face plate, ignoring Steve as he walked down the ramp, feet clanging against it as he entered the smoldering leftovers of the explosion. Tony ordered his AI, “FRIDAY, scan for lifeforms.”

 

“Scanning.”

 

There was a long pause, the screen in front of him floundering a bit until FRIDAY’s voice returned, “Boss, there’s an issue. The walls of the facility are interfering with my scanners.”

 

“Shit,” Tony cursed, “Alright, forget about it. Just pull up the blueprints and get me to the clubhouse.”

 

He heard movement behind him as several other sets of feet followed him. As the blueprints pulled up, Tony ordered the others, “Make sure any other exits are blocked off. We don’t need Ross deciding that he can suddenly swim if he’s desperate enough.”

 

“Rhodey, Nat, and Sam can do that,” Steve huffed, stepping forward, “But I’m coming with you.”

 

Tony grit his teeth, “You just don’t know when to quit, huh? I don’t know how to make this anymore clear to you.”

 

“You can hate it,” Cap snapped, stepping around him and heading further into the Raft, “But I’m helping. Come on.”

 

Tony turned and shot a look at the other three. Natasha simply raised an eyebrow and Rhodey shrugged while Sam looked up at the open ceiling where the rain was pouring in. Growling under his breath, Tony turned and followed the super-soldier, leaving the other three to attend to the exits. Anything to get out of the smoke settling room at this point.

 

Once Tony was close enough, he grabbed Steve’s arm and pulled him back, snapping, “Okay, I’m the one with the blueprint in my helmet, so I get to lead.”

 

Steve shot him a look. A look that said ‘are you serious? You sound ten-years-old’ but pettiness was second nature to Tony at times when his spoiled childhood would rear its ugly head. He moved around Steve and began to go forward into the corridor they were making their way down. The lights were dimmed, emergency-red illuminating the hall.

 

Tony’s eyes were glancing to the corner of the screen in front of him as they moved through the blueprint. Thankfully, Steve was silent. Maybe he got the hint that heart to hearts weren’t the best on missions. Especially not when Tony was already on edge and ready to explode. Murder Ross.

 

It was funny. Tony kept forgetting where Cap’s shield was. Kept wondering. Then remembering.

 

It was almost like times Before. Before Germany. Before Siberia. Except it wasn’t. Because Peter was here and Peter hadn’t been Before.

 

They turned two lefts then a right, until the red spot on the blueprint lit up and Tony stopped, Steve coming to a halt behind him suddenly. The silence was ominous, rain sounding through the metal walls. Creaks and groans of the Raft echoing. Tony felt strangely nauseated as they stood outside the sealed door. Because it was still closed. Closed and locked and surely…Surely Ross knew they had entered. Surely he had felt the shake of the explosion.

 

Unless they had all been wrong. Peter might not even be here. And then what would they do? Where would they go?

 

Maybe Steve could read his mind, because he spoke into the com quietly to the others, “Anything?”

 

 _“Nothing on my end,”_ Sam was the first to break through.

 

Then Natasha _, “No sign of attempted escape.”_

_“Same,”_ Rhodey finished.

 

Steve sighed behind him…

 

“Ready?”

 

“Just back up.”

 

Steve did as he was told and Tony moved back as well, holding out his hand. The blaster at the end made a charging sound and Tony’s entire body jolted from the force it needed to break the sealed barrier off its hinges. Light illuminated the dim hallway from the closed off room as the dust settled, rain still running through Tony’s ears. This was what he knew he’d remember. Have nightmares about. The sound of rain, the smell of dust, and the sight he saw upon entering the room.

 

At first it looked relatively similar to the room in which Clint, Lang, and Wilson had been held in. Except smaller, with only two cells. One was barren…Empty. While the other stood open, a trail of blood leading inside.

 

“Tony…” He heard Steve’s voice whisper.

 

Tony turned to see Steve kneeling beside a man in a white coat. His throat was deep shades of purple, and his mouth was bleeding. He appeared to be unconscious, but his chest was rising and falling shakily. Steve pressed a finger to the side of the man’s neck. Alive. Pale. Barely.

 

He returned his attention to the empty cell before moving towards the one that had blood leading into it. The bright lights were florescent and blinding, even worse as he approached the room where the bars and glass were wide open. The cement walls were white, reflecting light vehemently. The line of dark, drying crimson caught his eye and he followed it inside, taking in the sight before him. The real source of the nightmares. Not the smell of dust. Not the sound of rain. But the tangible source that would haunt him.

 

Peter was lying limply on his side, his wrists bloody and bound to the floor by a chain. His head was tucked against his chest and he appeared to be curled into himself, so Tony couldn’t get a good look at his face from the distance. He moved forward, almost robotically before dropping down heavily next to the unconscious teenager.

 

Tony hesitated to put his hands on him, metaled palms hovering above the fragile body. Peter’s body was trembling, but it was clear he wasn’t awake.

 

“Peter?” Tony ignored the crack in his own voice.

 

There was no response as Steve entered the cell as well, taking in the sight of the blood. Tony’s eyes flitted to a metal pipe a few feet away, and from the spots covering it, he didn’t have to guess that it was the weapon used. Tony looked at Peter’s raw wrists, breaking the chain easily with his suit. He then rolled the boy over onto his back, finally getting a look at his face.

 

If Tony hadn’t felt so numb, he might would have punched a wall.

 

The left side of Peter’s face was swollen, the place along his eyebrow opened and bloody. Fresh. His lip was split and blood trailed down his chin. He had _just_ been hurt. Just been beaten. Maybe…Maybe if they had been a few minutes earlier. Maybe if they hadn’t spent so much time planning. Jesus…A large gash was across his nose. He looked so broken, shivering, eyes shut, not peaceful unconsciousness…Pained and torn and tortured.

 

“FRIDAY, scan him,” Was all Tony could muster.

 

“Scanning.”

 

Tony hesitantly reached out, putting a hand on Peter’s forehead, careful not to jostle his wounds. Steve was silent, looming over them both as they waited for FRIDAY’s diagnosis. Not that he needed one. Not that he needed to worry more than he already was. It was clear that Peter was hurt, but should he move him? That was the question. He had obviously taken a severe beating…

 

“Complete,” FRIDAY finished, “Peter appears to have sustained multiple blows to the face, chest and abdomen. His forearms have defensive wounds. I detect an unusual number of fractures. And it seems his body is fighting off a substance not entered into my database, but it is causing his temperature to spike and severe dehydration. I suggest immediate medical attention.”

 

Tony bit down on the inside of his cheek, “Is he safe to move?”

 

“No spinal or neck injuries detected,” FRIDAY provided.

 

Steve’s voice questioned behind him, “Well?”

 

“We can move him,” Tony replied. Steve kneeled down, beginning to help Tony get the boy into his arms. Tony spoke into the com to the others, “We’ve got Peter, we’re headed back to the jet.”

 

Once Tony had Peter in his arms, both he and Steve stood. Just as they did a voice echoed through the room…

 

“I wish I could say I’m surprised.”

 

Both whirled around. Standing in the doorway of the cell was Ross. Tony instinctively tightened his grip on Peter, the boy’s head lulled against his metal shoulder. Ross had a gun trained on them both, and Tony would have laughed, had the teenager in his arms been behind him and not in front of him. Right in the path of a bullet. Tony swallowed thickly, just as Nat asked over the com…

 

_“Did you guys find Ross?”_

He wanted to reply, but he couldn’t seem to open his mouth. Rage was welling up, and if Peter weren’t cradled in his arms, Tony would have already wrapped his fingers around Ross’ throat and squeezed the life out of him, like the guy outside the cell.

 

“Somehow I have trouble seeing what you wish to be surprised about,” Steve spoke.

 

There was something…weird behind Ross’ eyes. His cheek was bloody and gashed open and a part of Tony was connecting the dots. Fresh blood. A fresh beating. Peter had fought back. Peter had probably hurt the man in the white coat and Ross had hurt him in return. The chuckle that escaped Ross was almost vicious, as he held the weapon in a steady grip.

 

“You two working together,” His eyes found Iron Man’s face plate, “Even after he knew what Barnes did to your parents. Sad. You can’t even be loyal to them while they rot in their graves. Out here, trying desperately to be a father when you can’t even respect your dead one.”

 

Tony had so many things to say, but not with Peter in his arms.

 

All Tony could manage to say was, “Well, it’s nice to no longer be the worst father in the room. I think you’ve got that covered, huh? I’m sure your daughter has seen everything on the news. Does she know where you are? What you did to a fifteen-year-old child? I bet she’d be so proud.”

 

Ross was grinding down on his jaw, “You don’t know the first thing about loving another human being, Stark. I did all this… _All_ this for the future of every child in this world. Every child and normal human being that has to fear… _Freaks_ like that boy in your arms. Freaks that run around and do what they want, just because they can. Freaks that drop buildings on people, like Sokovia. New York. That boy isn’t a child. He’s an animal.”

 

Letting out a quiet laugh, Ross continued, “He basically killed Doctor Briggs out there, you know? He’ll be dead in the next few minutes. His neck is broken. Because that ‘kid’ strangled him with his bare hands. Cried while he did it, like some kind of maniac.”

 

“Because he’s a child that you’ve tortured,” Steve sounded level headed, and Tony wondered how he could be, because he himself was blind with a fire around the edges of his vision, “But when he finally fights back, he’s the animal, right? Because he’s different. And that difference somehow makes him more of a threat, even though _you_ , Ross, were the one that had him chained to a floor, pumping him pull of drugs.” 

 

Ross replied bitterly…Darkly…

 

“You don’t get it. You’ve never had to sit by, Rogers. Sit by, while the world was crashing down.”

 

Tony scoffed this time, “We could do without the self-pity.”

 

Ross’ hand began to shake, his steady grip faltering. Steve’s body tensed, as if he was about to rush him, when suddenly the Raft gave a sharp jolt. Ross grabbed the doorframe, and Tony would have fallen over with the extra weight in his arms if Steve hadn’t steadied him. Tony looked up at the ceiling as if it held the answers and he whispered, “What the hell…”

 

 _“Tony!”_ Rhodey’s voice came over the com, _“We need to go! The Raft is re-submerging; we’re going to get flooded!”_

Tony’s head snapped up when Ross breathed, “The security system…We’ve been above water too long.”

 

Ross’ eyes then found the Iron Man mask and Steve. A flash glinted in his irises, and the gun raised directly at the pair. Steve shoved Tony, just as the gun fired and both ducked to the ground to avoid the bullet. Tony placed an arm over Peter’s head as Steve grabbed the bloodied pipe nearby, not hesitating to throw it at Ross. The metal made a sharp ‘thwack’ against Ross’ head and the man crumbled to the ground limply, the gunshot still ringing the air.

 

Tony uncovered Peter’s head, peering down at him. He was still trembling, but otherwise looked fine. He then looked at Steve as the super-soldier asked, “You alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony huffed, “You’re not getting a thank you.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes just as the Raft gave another shake. Hurriedly, Tony rose to his feet, and the two of them made their way from the room. Steve reached down, picking up the unconscious Ross and Tony didn’t bother to argue, because he knew that Spangles was just too perfect to leave the villain behind.

 

Just as Ross had said though…the man in the white coat had stopped breathing while they were in the cell. Tony didn’t view it as much of a loss and if Peter didn’t ask about it, he wouldn’t bother to ever mention the dead doctor. Just another piece of scum. Garbage that had helped to hurt Peter and torture him.

 

The sounds the Raft made as the men rushed down the hall were growing louder and the rain was no longer just that…The sound of water rushing was also filling his ears and the voices on his com were growing louder and louder. It would have been irritating if his adrenaline wasn’t blocking it out and he was too focused on getting Peter to safety. He would have flown, if the hallway wasn’t so thin and abandoning Steve after he had clocked Ross with a pipe probably wouldn’t have been the most chivalrous move.

 

When they entered the large landing area, the water was pouring in through the sides. The walls were almost shouting in agony. The hangar was open on the jet and Rhodey’s suit was glimmering in the dim light, waiting for them as they practically had to wade through the quickly accumulating water.

 

Rhodey met Tony about halfway down the ramp, assisting him in bringing Peter inside. Steve trotted up after them, Ross over his shoulder and he dropped him on the ground less than gracefully. Tony and Rhodey however took special care to lower Peter down, propping his head against a duffle bag that had been lying in the corner.

 

The jet came to life as the ramp slowly rolled up. Tony glanced, seeing Natasha in the front, guiding the aircraft into the sky, rain pelting, but so much more welcomed than the rushing water that had threatened to drown them. Sam approached where Rhodey and Tony were hovering over Peter, hissing quietly, “Shit…His face.”

 

Tony stepped out of the suit, kneeling down beside the boy, finally able to check his pulse with his own hand. Despite the AIs scan, there was something more comforting about proving it to himself. Peter was still shaking, and Tony slipped his jacket off, wrapping it around the boy. Though he had an inkling it wasn’t because Peter was cold and now soaked to the bone from trying to get inside the ship.

 

The drugs. The drugs that Ross had forced into him.

 

Tony hadn’t even realized his hands had begun to shake like Peter, until he touched Peter’s cheek to check his temperature. Rhodey stepped out of his suit too, beginning to do a comb of Peter’s injuries and Sam kneeled to assist. Tony’s eyes slid towards Ross, who still lay unconscious on the opposite wall. Rhodey and Sam were speaking to each other about Peter, Steve was standing silently above the man crumbled in on himself.

 

Silence. Rain. Murmuring.

 

He glanced at the boy, squirming unconsciously under the jacket. Pain still carved into his bruised and swollen face. A face that had been beaten with a freaking pipe. Probably repeatedly hit. It seemed almost unfair that Ross had only been hit once to be rendered unconscious. _Once_. That was his punishment…That was it.

 

Was that all that was ever going to be it?

 

Would anyone actually do anything?

 

Tony stood slowly, but every set of eyes in the room looked at him, including Natasha’s after she had put the jet on autopilot and turned in her seat. Sam and Rhodey had stopped what they were doing, and maybe…Maybe they could see his anger. It was ripping through Ross’ limp form and Tony’s hands tightened into fists. He didn’t even need to step back into his suit, because Ross was defenseless. Like Peter had been, chained to the floor.

 

He surged forward. He wasn’t sure why or how, but he did. Like a force had pushed him.

 

Nat grabbed him by the back of his shirt, the fabric straining as he continued forward anyway, only stopped when Steve grabbed both of his shoulders. Rhodey and Sam stood, glancing at one another, but Natasha and Steve kept their holds on Tony, stopping him from doing what he really wanted to do. Stopping him from ending Ross, right then and there.

 

“You don’t want to do this,” Steve’s voice snapped.

 

Tony laughed darkly, and he would have been startled if he wasn’t burning from the inside out. Startled by his own, murderous tone. A tone he had heard very few times in his life.

 

“You really think that?” Tony growled, “You really think I don’t want to wring his neck? Beat him to death? Do you really believe that?”

 

Nat stepped around into his view and reasoned, “That’s not what he means. You don’t want to do that, because what happens tomorrow when you wake up? When Peter wakes up? And there’s blood under your fingernails that you just can’t wash away. Sometimes justice is better than revenge.”

 

“Rich coming from you,” Tony knew he wasn’t being fair. Nat hadn’t done anything, she was trying to reinvent herself, but he just couldn’t…couldn’t understand why _they_ didn’t understand. How they could look at Peter and not want to kill Ross right then and there.

 

Natasha’s response was blunt, dull, “I’ve had to learn this lesson many times over. You’ll feel better for a minute. Maybe a few days even. But the blood always ends up under your fingernails again.”

 

Tony hoped that blood wouldn’t be under Peter’s.

 

He stepped back and Steve released him slowly.

 

Tony didn’t agree. But he had decided they weren’t going to let him kill Ross, so there was no point.

 

Good speech though. ‘A’ for effort.

 

…

 

SHIELD was waiting for them at the Compound.

 

Waiting with a team of doctors that immediately rolled Peter away to the med-wing and a group of men that handcuffed a silent Ross who had regained consciousness just as they were landing on the roof. There weren’t nearly as many agents as there had been at the beginning, but SHIELD was trying…Trying to rebuild and Tony truly hoped one day they’d find their formal glory from before Hydra’s interference.

 

Phil had smiled softly at Tony, had turned to face Nat, Sam, and Steve…

 

“I didn’t see any of you here. I promise.”

 

And Ross was hauled away. Much to Tony’s dismay, because he knew that if he did decide that he wanted Ross dead one day, it would be much harder. He hoped Natasha was right though. Hoped that the next time he woke, things would be different.

 

That he wouldn’t wish for a man to be dead so badly.

 

Tony had been exiled behind a glass window while the group of doctors worked on Peter. He was grateful they were SHIELD so at least no excuses would be needed. Tony didn’t think he could think of anything right now, with his brain turning to mush as the adrenaline high wore off. The Compound was almost dark besides the med-wing.

 

Vision wasn’t home. Tony had an inkling of where he could be, but pretended not to know because it was easier that way.

 

He had only been slightly startled when Steve had approached him…

 

The man’s eyes followed Tony’s gaze into the operating room behind the glass. Steve questioned, “What’s happening?”

 

“They’re trying to lower his temperature,” Tony replied, “Clear his system of the drugs. Get him rehydrated…Just…Fix everything Ross screwed up.”

 

Silence enveloped the two of them. Tony knew he should be thankful. Even thought about forcing himself to be, because Steve had helped save Peter. Nat and Sam had helped. He _should_ say thank you. But that angry, dark part of him was still throwing a tantrum. Kicking and screaming for a justice that would never come. Maybe a justice that didn’t need to come, because Barnes had, after all been brainwashed. But…Tony couldn’t do it. Couldn’t accept it. Just not yet.

 

Maybe one day.

 

“He’s asleep.”

 

Tony’s head whipped in Steve’s direction. He thought Steve was talking about Peter, and Tony wanted to say ‘well duh’ but one glance at the man’s face and Tony knew that wasn’t what Steve meant. Steve continued softly, “Bucky is asleep. So, you don’t have to…worry…about him snapping or anything like he did. I’ve got him with some really trustworthy people. People who are going to…Undo what Hydra did.”

 

“You know that doesn’t fix everything,” Tony hummed, “Not even close.”

 

Steve nodded in return, “You’re right, I know. I know that what happened was…Ridiculous and bloody and horrific. It never _should_ have happened. I never should have…done what I did, but I don’t regret getting Bucky out of there.”

 

“I didn’t think that you did.”

 

Steve sighed, “Please don’t be like that. I don’t expect you to completely understand. But he’s my-“

 

“Friend?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, I got that part. Around the time the shield was being shoved into my chest.”

 

There was a pause where Steve said nothing. Then, he finally mustered the words, “Tony, I am sorry. Really.”

 

Tony’s hands tightened where he was holding the edge of the windowsill. He breathed, “I am too. But not in the way that…”

 

_Not in the way that would make things go back to the way they were._

Tony then explained, “The Accords will almost certainly be dismantled. I don’t know what that means for you guys, because the courts are going to want to try again. And they’re going to want signatures. Signatures that I doubt you’ll be willing to give up.”

 

Steve said nothing.

 

“So…You three had better get on the move,” Tony finished lamely, “Just in case, you know?”

 

Steve nodded, “Yeah…I know.”

 

The super-soldier turned, beginning to walk away from Tony. He paused though in his retreat, turning just slightly enough to be heard as he said, “I’m glad we could help…He seems like a really good kid. I’m glad…I’m glad to see that you’ve found this.”

 

Tony made a humming sound, “Shocking to see me in the domestic life, yeah?”

 

Steve relented, giving a small smile, “It suits you.”

 

As soon as Steve disappeared, Tony reached into his pocket. He pulled out his cellphone, dialing the number he had memorized long ago.

 

 _“Hello?”_ Pepper’s voice came from the other end, shaking _, “Tony?”_

“Yes honey,” Tony spoke softly, almost weak. Like he had been carrying around a weight that had suddenly slipped off.

 

Pepper returned _, “Is everything…Did everything go alright? Did you guys…”_

Tony nodded, knowing she couldn’t see him, which was good because his eyes were burning and Pepper didn’t need to see that right now, “Yeah, we found him. The doctors are working on him right now…But, things are looking okay. He’s going to be okay.”

 

His voice gave out there at the end, so he opted for breathing deeply and leaning back against the wall behind him.

 

_“Thank God…Tony…”_

Tony shut his eyes. She had cracked too. She was taking deep breaths _too_.

 

And suddenly he didn’t feel so alone.


	15. Lemons, Pencils, Buttercups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You promise t-this is real?”
> 
> Tony’s voice rumbled through his chest and into Peter’s ear…
> 
> “Yeah kiddo, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter guys! There's something strangely sad about this story coming to an end. The next chapter will be more of an epilogue. Just to close us out. I love you all so much. I wouldn't have made it this far without you all encouraging me. xx

Peter had relented to sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Thai restaurant. He had been here many times before, in the empty street.

 

He waited for her to arrive, in the cold night, surrounded by the snow on the edges, washed away by water. Numb toes and fingers. This was, he supposed, the millionth time. Exaggeration. But it felt like it. And he was just tired at this point. His hands hurt from wrapping them around that man’s neck so tightly.

 

She was late, Peter thought. Aunt May was late, and he had come to realize these were dreams some time ago, so there was something offensive about her being late to _his_ dream.

 

Though, he really wasn’t in a rush to see her get run over anymore. To see the blood. It was a fresh wound every time, for her and for Peter. Like reopening the marks on his wrists from his bindings back in the real world. Back where things didn’t make sense. It was wrong, when the dream world became more sensical than the real one. But neither were merciful, that much was true. Neither were an escape.

 

At least here, the drugs didn’t make his bones ache. Just the cold did.

 

After too much time had passed, time that had never passed before in any of the other dreams, Peter called out, “Okayyyy…I’m waiting!”

 

He then continued, “What horrible thing do you have for me to see today?”

 

 Maybe the quiet was his punishment, because there was something unnerving about all of it.

 

He was about to give up. Maybe get up and walk down the empty streets and find out how far his dream could stretch. What it could make up if he branched out. But the ringing of the Thai door opening caught his attention and his head whipped in its direction, taking in the figures before him.

 

He had only expected to see Aunt May, but…standing beside her…holding her hand was Ben.

 

Peter stood so quickly, if he wasn’t dreaming, his head probably would have rushed. This was a first…Sure Uncle Ben had been in the _other_ dream. The other dream where the bullets came so fast that Peter could never intervene. The other dream where Ben’s bloodied hand would touch his face and tell him not to be scared, but Peter was petrified anyway.

 

They approached him, side by side, and Peter felt something heavy slam into his chest. The last time he had seen them like this…together, smiling at him, had been the night before Uncle Ben had been murdered on that street corner. The night before everything changed forever and he had thought things would never be okay again.

 

“Hey Petey-Pie,” Uncle Ben grinned.

 

He had always pouted when he got called that, but in that moment, he decided it was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard.

 

Once the pair were directly in front of him, Peter croaked, “W-what are you guys doing?”

 

May smiled, but something glinted sadly behind her eyes.

 

“We came to say good-bye, honey.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened. Say good-bye? But they had been with him for so long, in this place. The dreams and nightmares that ran together like a river and the ocean. Peter whispered, “Why?”

 

Ben grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Tears were forming behind Peter’s lashes and he tried to fight them down, but there had been a shift in the cold air. An imminent feeling that soon nothingness would ensue. Uncle Ben hummed, “Because you don’t need us anymore. Not like this.”

 

The fifteen-year-old felt…Strangely betrayed. He moved closer to them, so close he could feel their breathing. They were alive. Warm. And that was still weird. Peter shook his head furiously, “No, no…I do need you. I need you both. P-please…”

 

May reached and carded a hand through his hair…

 

“This is not the way you need us, Peter. You need us in other ways. In comforting thoughts. But not here, in this place. This isn’t where you belong, sweetie. You belong out there, living. Figuring things out.”

 

He started to shake his head, but she interrupted, “You are _alive_. And we aren’t. That’s the way things are. The way they were always meant to be.”

 

Ben smiled gently, “Buddy, Tony will be with you. Pepper. Rhodey. Ned. Happy. They’ll all be with you every step of the way. And we’ll be right here…”

 

He tapped Peter’s forehead.

 

“You can think of us. But don’t dwell on us.”

 

Peter swallowed thickly.

 

“I don’t think I can do it.”

 

His uncle laughed, “You can do anything, Peter. You’re a Parker.”

 

The tears came without warning. Peter lowered his head, May reaching out and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. She smelled like her perfume. She was so real. So tangible. Uncle Ben rubbed his back, the callouses clear even through the fabric of Peter’s shirt.

 

Aunt May whispered in his ear…

“It’s okay to be happy. You don’t have to ask.”

 

…

 

“…why’re you stabbing his foot…?”

 

“…testing response…”

 

Peter was aware someone was poking him, before he was aware of anything else. Sharply, on his heel. But then again, it could have been his head for all he knew. Everything was upside down. Slowly filling to the brim with input. Beeping. Heartbeats. Brief quiet. Voices that he couldn’t understand because English was not computing.

 

He could still feel Aunt May whispering into the shell of his ear.

 

Then he could feel a lot.

 

The needle, or whatever it was, dug deep into his foot and Peter’s eyes snapped open. His first instinct was to pull away, but someone grabbed him tightly around the ankle. Peter’s vision was blurred, surrounded by several suns that he realized were lights. Lights that looked all too similar to those on the Raft.

 

This was the real world. And with the real world was the Raft. Nothing else.

 

The left side of his head ached and Peter groaned, trying to pull his ankle from the grip when the needle stabbed again. Someone’s voice, extremely familiar, snapped, “Alright stop, he reacted. Now you’re just making him bleed.”

 

Then it processed through him, and the world came into focus.

 

Tony Stark was above him, peering down. His mouth was drawn into a line, eyes concerned as Peter blinked at him. Shock filled Peter because Tony hadn’t been a part of the Raft dreams. Not really anyway. Maybe in flashing passes, but not as potent as May and Ben had been. But here he was, clear as day, definitely not a fleeting memory. Definitely something more.

 

Peter looked at his arm. Tubes stuck out. Needles. A man in a white coat stood at the foot of the bed, holding his ankle…

 

_White coat. White coat. White coat._

He was sitting up in an instant, the world blurring from the sudden, sharp action. Tony let out a startled sound and the doctor jumped back. Peter’s hand dug at the tape holding the needle inside of his arm and he tried desperately to pry it off, to rip out the tubes, but Tony’s… _Not_ -Tony’s hand wrapped around his wrist tightly as he said, “Hey, hey, kid, don’t touch that. Calm down.”

 

“I don’t think he’s all there,” And Peter looked up to see another occupant in the room. A Not-Rhodey. Stepping forward to assist Not-Tony who was trying to stop Peter from removing the IVs. IVs? The thought processed and Peter couldn’t breathe. He looked at the doctor and he shouted…

 

“G-go! G…Get away!”

 

Not-Tony grabbed his wrists when Peter swung his legs off the side of the bed. Rhodey grabbed him by the hospital gown he was wearing, and Not-Tony effectively trapped his legs against the edge. Peter struggled, and if he didn’t feel so weak, he would have been able to fight off the Not-Tony and the Not-Rhodey. Been able to strangle the doctor again. But everything was covered in a thick haze and things were loud, loud, loud.

 

Not-Tony released his wrists and grabbed both sides of his face, ordering, “Look at me, Peter. You’re safe. You’re in the Compound. We got you off the Raft. You’re okay.”

 

The words started to register through his mind, but his breathing was still quick. The doctor had moved to the corner of the room and Not-Rhodey was grabbing something, telling Not-Tony, “He’s hyperventilating.”

 

The plastic of an oxygen mask got close to his face, but all Peter could see was that damned inhaler that made everything burn so, so much.

 

Peter screamed, lashing out and knocking the mask from Not-Rhodey’s hand. Not-Tony grabbed his wrists again and Peter felt warm tears melt on his face. He looked up at Not-Tony, struggling as best he could, as Not-Tony shushed him. Peter begged, “Please…Pl-please don’t…Don’t do it again. Don’t.”

 

“ _Look_ at me,” Not-Tony ordered for the second time, “It’s _me_ , it’s Tony. You’re safe, okay?”

 

Peter stared up at the man.

 

“That’s it. Come back.”

 

The boy breathed, “Is this real?”

 

Not-Tony…but _Maybe_ -Tony put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck.

 

“Yes, it’s real. You’re real. I’m real. Rhodey is real.”

 

Peter’s lip trembled, “Is Ross gone? Is he going to come back?”

 

“No,” Maybe-Tony’s voice lowered, “He’s never going to hurt you again, Peter. He’s not coming back.”

 

Peter’s fingernails dug into his arms, causing Maybe-Tony to stop him gently, opening the teen’s hands. Peter whispered, “He kept… He k-kept putting that t-thing to my face. And that c-cloud, it _burned_.”

 

Leaning his head forward, Peter buried his face into Maybe-Tony’s chest. On any normal day it would have been embarrassing. Would have been as mortifying as when Tony found him slamming his head against the closet wall. But the drugs were digging too deep into his veins and nothing was right, but then again everything was right all in the same breath.

 

He felt Maybe-Tony’s arms wrap around him. It wasn’t tight, like in the car or the closet, when Peter had needed to be grounded. It was…Different. It was comfort. Affection.

 

“You promise t-this is real?”

 

Tony’s voice rumbled through his chest and into Peter’s ear…

 

“Yeah kiddo, I promise.”

 

…

 

“In all reality, the child shouldn’t be alive right now, let alone recovering this quickly.”

 

Tony heard the doctor speaking, but he kept his eyes glued to the teen that they had just sedated. Peter was lying peacefully back on the hospital bed, his face almost serene. He had healed a lot in the past forty-eight hours. He almost looked himself again, soft features returning, the swollen skin evening out and the purple splotches fading away.

 

He lifted his gaze back towards the three doctors, one being Cho whom he had called several hours before because she was someone he trusted and he needed that among the doctors. Even if Phil had recommended these guys, giving them flying colors, Tony wanted a familiar face.

 

Doctor Cho cleared her throat and took over, “Peter should have overdosed many times over. Did…overdose. But, I think due to his abilities, his body was able to withstand it.”

 

“Then why does he still have a fever?” Tony swallowed thickly, “Why is he still so confused?”

 

The woman sighed, “It’s not an exact science, Tony, especially when it comes to an enhanced individual. Peter’s body is working through…countless drugs right now. He’s going through withdraws. The good news is, he’s out of the woods and you should be able to bring him home in the next few hours. Which I’m sure will make Pepper very happy.”

 

Tony shot her a startled look.

 

Cho smiled.

 

“Why do you look like you’re being forced to bring home a newborn too soon?”

 

“Because that’s what it feels like,” Tony huffed, “He…He’s still sick.”

 

She nodded, “Yes, and he’ll need some tender care, but nothing extreme. Lots of fluids, some pain medicine. He might experience bouts of confusion, but like I said, the drug is still working through him. He’s sick, but more like the flu, not like…Ebola or something.”

 

Tony shot her an unamused glance.

 

“I mean it, Tony. He is going to be fine.”

 

He wanted to believe that. But the worried, extremely sleep deprived part of him didn’t. Because when he looked at Peter he couldn’t see past the frail kid he had found on the Raft. Bloodied and beaten by Ross like he had been nothing. All he could see was the Peter that had woken a while ago, fighting tooth and nail to escape.

 

Wondering if this was real.

 

It wasn’t long before the doctors filed out and Tony was alone with the slumbering teenager. Slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed and hummed, more to himself, because of course Peter was oblivious to the world, “You’re gonna have to go easy on me. I’m getting old.”

 

His eyes found Peter’s lax face, “No jumping out of the bed and trying to crush me with super-strength. Not until I can get in a few hours of sleep myself.”

 

And that was where Tony sat, as the clock ticked. Rhodey would come in occasionally, bringing coffee with him. And then those few hours that Cho had mentioned passed and the doctors were rolling Peter out of the room to the medical vehicle that would bring them back into the city. Back to the penthouse. Back home.

 

The entire ride, Tony didn’t take his hand from Peter’s. Every twitch was a jolting experience, but Peter’s eyes never opened. They had dosed him again for the drive. There was no reason to cause the kid more anxiety and risk him waking in the back of an unfamiliar transport vehicle. Not when he had been kidnapped in one.

 

Pepper and Happy were waiting for them and Rhodey helped him put Peter in bed. Peter’s own bed. The kid was still in a hospital gown, but something about him being home and under his own blankets was enough to make him look _normal_ again. No more IVs sticking out of his skin. The bruises and gashes were nearly gone. As soon as Peter hit the pillows, a quiet sound of content was released.

 

Tony stepped back when Pepper pushed through to grab Peter’s hand. She smiled down at his sleeping form, pushing his hair from his forehead. Tony hadn’t even noticed it was getting longer. Messier.

 

Pepper hid her face, ducking it from the three men in the room. Happy looked away while Rhodey did the same, but Tony didn’t take his eyes off of her. Because even though she had been worried and was sniffling quietly, he had never seen her more beautiful. Pepper wouldn’t let them see her shed a tear, but the men knew all the same that they were probably in existence.

 

“Not a word,” She huffed, holding up a finger at the men.

 

Tony shot Happy and Rhodey a look and the two men backed out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind themselves. Tony stepped forward, getting close enough to feel Pepper’s warmth. She was holding Peter’s limp hand so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She glanced back at Tony and sighed…

 

“God, May Parker was a strong woman.”

 

Tony nodded, “She was. Hell of a lot stronger than me.”

 

Pepper’s eyes were turning pink around the edges and she bit down on her lip.

 

“C’mere,” Tony said and Pepper leaned forward, putting her chin on his shoulder. She didn’t cry, not really, because she was the one that was _actually_ made of iron. But Tony held her nonetheless.

 

It was okay. It was okay.

 

…

 

The next time Peter woke up, he was surrounded by darkness.

 

It only took him a few moments to realize where he was. His head felt much clearer, like he had been released from a prison inside of his skull. It was the first dreamless sleep in so long. The first without May or Ben being hurt or telling him goodbye. Maybe they had meant it…When they had left. When they had wanted him to be happy. To remember them, but not to dwell so deeply that it ached.

 

The lack of the drugged feeling brought a deeply set hurt in his bones and muscles though. His head was pounding slightly, and he felt feverish. Cold but warm. Glancing around the room, he realized where he was, his brain able to process that he wasn’t at the Compound this time, but rather in his room…At the penthouse.

 

The large windows brought in a bit of light from the city to the darkness, casting shadows in the bedroom. A sound startled him, and Peter’s head lulled over to see a figure, neck cranked backward, snoring softly in a chair.

 

Tony.

 

His arms were lying on the rests beside him, head tilted to the ceiling, oblivious to Peter rejoining the real world. Peter felt his body shivering and he knew then he must really have a fever, because when he pushed himself up to his elbows, the shaking almost caused him to flatten back onto the mattress suddenly.

 

Peter thought, he was going to get up. Get up and go to the bathroom. But the moment he pushed himself into an unsteady sitting position, nausea overwhelmed him.

 

He choked and vomited all over the hospital gown he was wearing.

 

The sound startled Tony awake and the man was sitting forward in an instant while Peter tried to catch his breath. The lamp turned on, blinding the teen only a moment and suddenly Tony’s hand were on his arms, helping him to sit up fully while he coughed through the bile. It burned, acidic, and almost like the drugs he had been pumped with.

 

“Take a deep breath.”

 

Tony sounded groggy, like he wasn’t fully awake yet, but was aware enough to hold Peter up on the bed. Peter shook his head and groaned in disgust at himself and the mess covering him…

 

“Ugh…ew…gross”

 

Maybe Tony hadn’t expected that, because he actually laughed, sounding startled by the statement. Even a little relieved. Peter looked up at Tony, taking in his features in the lamp light. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. But despite the vomit, appeared rather pleased to see Peter awake and speaking coherently. Peter couldn’t blame him. He only vaguely remembered his last run in with the waking world, but he recalled enough to know he hadn’t been exactly friendly.

 

“C’mon, bathroom.”

 

Tony helped him to stand and despite Peter’s best efforts, Tony was forced to carry a lot of his weight until they reached the bathroom door across the room. Tony flicked on the light and the white tile nearly made Peter cover his eyes. He glanced in the mirror, taking in his disheveled look. Faded marks covered his face, but all in all, he expected worse.

 

He must have slept for some time.

 

Long enough to heal.

 

Tony propped him against the counter before exiting, returning with a pair of Peter’s NASA pajama pants and the matching t-shirt. He set the clothing on the counter and asked, “Think you can shower without passing out? I’ll strip the bed.”

 

Peter gave a tight nod and Tony only hesitated a moment before shutting the bathroom door, leaving Peter alone. He turned the shower on, carefully stripping off the ruined gown. The warm water was comforting on his clammy skin, but he was still shaking. He didn’t spend too much time in the shower though, before he climbed out, dressed slowly, methodically, having to think very hard about not falling down. He used the mouthwash by the sink to chase away the awful taste in his mouth and he exited the steam filled bathroom.

 

Tony was just finishing putting new sheets on the bed when Peter came out. His head whirled towards Peter before moving in his direction, but Peter held up a hand and whispered, “I-I got it.”

 

Despite this, Tony took his arm anyway and helped him to slowly sit down on the bed.

 

There was something almost funny in the way that Tony had to help Peter lift his legs to get back under the blankets. Like Peter had aged so much in his sleep, he was now elderly and every movement made him feel weak. The shower had drained him and his hair was sticking to his forehead, soaked because he hadn’t had the energy to dry off properly. He had been worried about collapsing and God it would have been so embarrassing to do that in the shower. He’d never live it down.

 

Peter propped against the headboard in the dim lighting, squinting at the lamp. Tony pulled the fresh comforter upward, and Peter didn’t think he had vomited on everything, but maybe Tony had just changed it all for good measure.

 

Tony’s hands flattened on his cheeks, then the back of his hand pressed to Peter’s forehead. Just the touch made his head almost fall over. He was so tired again all of a sudden and the silence in the room was making him want to sleep more, if it weren’t for the light.

 

“You’re warm,” Tony mumbled, seeming like he was speaking more to himself than to Peter, “It’s normal…Doctor Cho said you’d keep the fever for a while.”

 

Peter nodded mutely. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t terribly painful right now, most of the pain was in his limbs and his head. Peter remained silent until Tony clicked the lamp back off and started to assist him in lying down against the pillows. Peter reached for his own pillow that had somehow managed to end up on the opposite side of the bed and Tony grabbed it, handing it over.

 

Tony sat back down in the chair, enveloped in the shadows of the dark night, only brought to life by the city that never slept. The artificial lighting of neighboring penthouses. Peter rolled onto his side, placing his pillow below his head so that he wouldn’t have to hold it up to look at Tony. They stared at each other, for a long time, an abyss forming because Peter could feel himself growing tired in the lateness. Tony was watching him, as if waiting for him to slip into sleep. It wasn’t an awkward exchange. In fact, it was almost comforting.

 

Like they weren’t positive the other was there, how it had all happened so quickly, but they were.

 

Peter was breathing.

 

And Tony was with him.

 

Peter swallowed thickly, his mouth still tasting like peppermint from the mouthwash…

 

“I think I asked this…” The boy croaked, “I kind of remember. But just to make sure…Is Ross gone?”

 

He saw Tony’s dark head bob up and down in confirmation, “Yeah, he’s gone. SHIELD hauled him away as soon as we got to the Compound.”

 

Peter felt relieved. Relieved Tony hadn’t lost his temper and murdered Ross, even though Peter had almost done the same. Peter looked at his fingers that were gripping his pillow and he whispered, “I think I…I think I killed the doctor.”

 

Tony was silent and that was all the confirmation Peter needed.

 

“I didn’t mean to…”

 

He felt unexplainably numb as he said, “They just…kept hurting me. I begged for them to stop, but they…wouldn’t. I didn’t mean to do it.”

 

Tony’s voice was harsh, but Peter knew it wasn’t directed towards him. It was directed towards Ross. Towards the doctor.

 

“I don’t blame you in the slightest. And don’t you dare blame yourself. You did what you had to do.”

 

Peter didn’t _have_ to kill the doctor. It had been a moment where clarity had disappeared behind the drugs. If anything, it seemed Tony was happy the doctor was dead, but Peter wasn’t. He had actually hoped he would survive. But the numbness was overtaking him, then washing away behind other memories that were clawing to the surface. The dream. May’s words. Peter’s guilt at rejecting Tony. Those feelings began to overshadow that of the dead doctor.

 

Peter whispered into the nothingness, to the shadow that was Tony’s face, “It made me dream.”

 

“What?” Tony asked. The subject change must have given him whiplash, and Peter blinked. He was so tired, he wasn’t really thinking straight. He was just spewing what he was feeling. Maybe they had him on some medicine. Or it was the fever. But there was no filter.

 

“The drug,” Peter elaborated, “The one they kept giving to me. Hour intervals…they’d give me another dose and I’d dream…Almost always the same thing. Aunt May or Uncle Ben dying.”

 

And then the numbness wasn’t so numb anymore. Peter felt a knot form in his throat.

 

“I was wrong, Mr. Stark. For the way I didn’t listen…For not being grateful. I-I was really ungrateful.”

 

Tony leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. Peter could see his face a bit better, a stream of light from another skyscraper coming in and showing Tony’s furrowed brows as he asked, “Grateful for what?”

 

Peter gulped, “The adoption. You didn’t… _have_ to take me. And I was a brat…a-and I just kept…I kept thinking that if I was adopted May and Ben would hate me…and the name…”

 

It was like the conversation in the closet all over again.

 

“It didn’t seem right…T-to move on and be happy. Even though I wanted to…to go forward. To work things out with you…It felt _wrong_.”

 

Peter sniffed, a tear warming his cheek. Peter didn’t know how Tony saw it in the dark, but the man reached out and swiped it away before it could reach his chin. Peter’s chest rattled as he said, “I-I’m grateful, I promise. I promise. I’m…I _want_ to be here.”

 

“Kid, stop,” Tony shook his head. His voice was soft. Peter was getting worked up, but he just wanted Tony to believe he was sincere. He was desperate for him to understand, but there was no way to do that without bringing those dreams to life. Tony continued, “I’m not mad at you for being upset.”

 

“But _I’m_ mad at me,” Peter said, “I should have been better. I should have behaved.”

 

“You were hurting… _grieving_ ,” Tony responded, his tone as paternal as Peter had ever heard it, “This is a fight you’re not gonna win, kiddo, because I’m never going to blame you for that, no matter how much you throw at me. We’re gonna move forward.”

 

Peter nodded. His eyes were burning with unshed tears. Move forward. Be happy. God, he wanted to be happy…

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony’s head tilted.

 

Peter swallowed, “Is it okay…If I start trying to be happy?”

 

If Peter could see the whole of Tony’s face, he knew there would be surprise there, just by the way his eyebrows reacted.

 

“Are you…asking permission?”

 

The teen nodded and bit down on his lip. It was trembling. The tears were threatening even more.

 

If it weren’t for the drugs. For the fever. For the trauma, he never would have asked something so…odd.

 

“You don’t have to ask permission for that.”

 

Peter swore Aunt May filtered into his view for a second.

 

He turned and buried his head into his pillow to hide the waterworks that had arrived. He spoke, voice muffled, “Please…I just…n-need someone to say it.”

 

There was a sigh from Tony’s end. A hand found his hair and started to smooth it down, but Peter only dug further into his pillow that no longer smelled like the apartment in Queens.

 

“Peter, it’s okay to be happy.”

 

A breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding escaped as a sob.

 

Relief.


	16. Seven Epilogues for the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is guys. The final chapter. Well, obviously more of an epilogue, to tie things together. I just want to thank you all again. I know I've said this a ton, but I'm so happy you all decided to read this. It was my first ever story because I've always been pretty nervous about posting things. I'm glad I managed to do this and I'm glad I had such great readers! Let me know what you all think. I've had some requests for a sequel and if that's something you guys would like to see, I'll start working right away. Love you all, thanks again! xx

_One Month Later…_

  **I.**

 

“May the 4th be with you, young Padawan!”

 

Ned’s voice erupted through the small gymnasium as Peter entered, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Peter scoffed at the greeting, a smile playing on his lips as Ned stood behind a table on the platform where they typically held their decathlon practices. Several of their teammates groaned in irritation and Peter couldn’t blame them really. Ned had been greeting everyone in the same manner all day.

 

Mr. Harrington spoke from where he sat with his feet propped up, playing on his cellphone, “Leeds, if I hear that again I’m demoting you.”

 

Ned sat down immediately, “So sorry, sir.”

 

MJ stood at the podium, holding a set of index cards in her hands. When Peter stopped in front of her, she waved her hand at the platform and said, “We don’t have all day, I’ve got picket signs to go home and paint for the march this weekend.”

 

Peter dropped his bag and scurried up to sit next to Ned. Flash was beside Mr. Harrington, his arms crossed over his chest, pouting. Since Peter’s return to the team, Flash had lost his spot yet again. Peter had stopped feeling guilty once Flash’s nose had healed.

 

Ned leaned over and whispered, “You go patrolling?”

 

“For an hour,” Peter replied, beaming, “Mr. Stark wants to start small, you know, since I’ve been out of the game for a while. But this crazy guy was stealing an old lady’s kittens, dude! Who steals kittens?”

 

Ned’s jaw dropped, “Kick his ass?”

 

“Of course,” Peter laughed, trying not to talk over Abe who was holding MJ’s attention, “Anyone who steals kittens is obviously not a good member of society. They were some kind of expensive breed. The lady was really happy, even offered to let me have one for free.”

 

“You take one?”

 

“Nah, Ms. Potts is allergic. Totally would have though.”

 

Ned opened his mouth to reply when a pencil suddenly popped him on the side of the head. Ned picked it up, wide eyes finding where MJ was smirking at the both of them. He exclaimed, “You could’ve blinded me!”

 

“Then pay attention,” MJ held up the note cards, “Or I’m gonna come up there and drop a chair on both of your heads.”

 

Ned raised an eyebrow at Peter, “Think she can take us?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

  **II.**

 

The brief, lighthearted practice was enough to prepare Peter for the rest of his day.

 

It wouldn’t be a particularly difficult time, he thought. Not a bad day. He just knew it was going to be full of emotional drainage, and that was okay. Those days needed to come sometimes. Not the kind that hurt, the kind that helped relieve. Helped him not bottle things up as much as he used to. To prevent the explosions.

 

Tony had named it ‘The Deflation Plan’.

 

Peter had added his own twists of how the days would go. Things that Tony didn’t even know about. That was what helped keep it Peter’s. Not everything had to be shared. He could have his own time to process the way his life was going. The way it was moving forward. Trying to rebuild what the past few months had taken away from him.

 

Some days were better than others. And that was okay.

 

Peter smiled at the old woman behind the counter as he ordered a small box of sushi. He counted out his cash and change one by one, because even though Tony had given him a credit card, it still felt weird sometimes to use it on things he didn’t need. She handed the box over and he gave her the money.

 

Cradling the food close to his chest like it was a bomb, Peter made his way down the street.

 

The peak of the church climbed over the other buildings.

 

Avoiding the inside, Peter went straight around to the graveyard. He still had trouble entering, because when he did his chest would clench and his eyes would almost burn. But that was normal, he reassured himself. It would normal to feel discomfort. Because it meant he was ‘dealing’ and not suppressing. The plastic container crinkled below his hands as he navigated while staring at the grass.

 

He knew the path by heart.

 

It smelled of grass, a change from the usual motor oil and grease of New York. Like a garden of souls in the middle of the city. A Central Park of lives once lived.

 

Peter sat in front of the twin headstones.

 

May and Ben Parker.

 

“Sorry I’m late guys,” Peter cracked open the container of sushi. The sushi he hated. The sushi that had a tie to such grief it almost looked like poison sometimes.

 

“There was a long line at the shop. Miss Hamada was doing her best to get us out of there. I think she needed to pick up her daughter from basketball practice.”

 

His fingers grabbed the roll, pinching the rice together slightly. Barbaric really, but he had forgotten to grab chopsticks in the rush. Holding his breath a moment, he threw his head back, eating it in one bite.

 

He didn’t gag. Improvement. The first time he had done this he had nearly thrown up on his aunt and uncle’s stones.

 

“Anyway…” Peter started, “Went to decathlon practice. MJ wasn’t taking any BS today. She drilled us over and over, but I think we held up pretty well. We’ll be getting out of school for the summer at the end of this month, but she’s already talking about practices over the break. Mr. Harrington is loving it.”

 

Peter took another bite. That one was better.

 

Shifting in the grass, Peter sighed, “Tony and Pepper are talking about taking this really big vacation. I get to go, of course. I feel kind of bad, because you know…I bet they’re not used to having to take a teenager with them.”

 

He laughed a little to himself, “They’re considering Greece. I’m gonna burn _so_ bad. I’ve seen _Mamma Mia!,_ I know how sunny it is there.”

 

Another bite. He had grown used to the silence. To the taste.

 

Peter swallowed the last piece…

 

“I miss you guys,” The depth was there, but no longer the desperation. No longer dwelling or longing. An everyday feeling of missing, but he wasn’t in that darkness anymore. It was easier to say. Easier to feel. His fingers tied up in the grass, “A lot.”

 

His eyes looked far away, but he blinked, returning to his place. Peter shook his head, “But I’m getting better, you know? I’m _doing_ better.”

 

Peter paused…

 

“The ropes and the water are gone.”

 

Maybe he was the only one in the universe who knew the significance of being free of those things, but he didn’t need them to understand. He just needed them to know.

 

  **III.**

 

When Peter stood and left the graveyard, he was still holding the empty container.

 

He knew Happy would be there soon, so he headed towards the front of the church to wait for him on the bench that was there. Peter dropped the container in a trash bin, walking down the street towards the place he always waited for Happy to arrive. There was a man on the bench, but Peter didn’t pay him much mind before sitting down on the far end, hardly glancing at him until he saw the stick folded up in his lap.

 

Peter’s head tilted, his eyes finding the stranger’s face.

 

Dark sunglasses covered his eyes as he stared ahead. Peter knew he had seen him before, but his mind struggled to find where the source of the familiarity was. Then, almost like an audible click, Peter knew.

 

It was one of the lawyers that had been in the penthouse. The one on the livestream, exposing Ross with that video of Martin Gregory. The one Tony had called Murdock in the workshop.

 

A small smile crept onto the man’s lips…

 

“Do I have something on my face?”

 

Peter blinked in surprise. The guy’s head didn’t even turn in his direction, but Peter was aware somehow, that Murdock was speaking to him. Swallowing thickly, Peter wondered how he _knew_ …Maybe he wasn’t completely blind. Maybe he just needed a little help. Peter’s face flushed and he looked down at his lap.

 

“S-sorry,” Peter apologized before lifting his head again. The man still wasn’t facing him as Peter explained, “It’s just…I know you.”

 

Finally, the man named Murdock turned to face him. Peter couldn’t see his eyes behind the glasses. He asked, “Do you?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter tilted his head slightly, “W-well, kind of. You helped Mr. Stark get Ross into trouble. I’m Mr. Stark’s…”

 

His voice trailed off. Brows furrowing.

 

Murdock made an ‘ah’ sound, “I recognize your voice. You’re Stark’s son.”

 

“Adopted,” Peter provided. That felt important somehow. Unfair, but important, especially since he was here visiting his dead aunt and uncle. Peter knew he was Tony’s son. But adopted was the title. And that was okay. It was okay to feel that way.

 

Just not to dwell.

 

Murdock hummed, nodding his head as he turned to look ahead again. He then asked Peter, “You come to see Father Lantom?”

 

Peter blinked a few times, shaking his head until he realized Murdock probably couldn’t see that he was doing it. It was weird when his silent replies couldn’t be used, because most replies were as such. He cleared his throat and answered, “No, sir. I’ve actually only been inside twice. My…family is buried here.”

 

Murdock’s only response was a nod and Peter questioned, “Do you…go inside, Mr. Murdock?”

 

“Well, one typically does when they go to church.”

 

Peter wanted to smack himself on the forehead, “R-Right. Sorry.”

 

There was a quiet chuckle from the man and Peter didn’t feel so stupid anymore. Murdock explained, “I come for confessionals mostly.”

 

The boy vaguely knew what confessionals were. Mostly what was in movies. Sitting behind a screen while a priest sat on the other side. Basically, you laid out your wrongs and they helped you. That was all he knew about it. The kids at his school who talked about it said it saved souls. Peter glanced down at his fingers, the ones that had strangled the life out of the man in the white coat over a month ago…

 

“Does it work?” He asked without really thinking.

 

An eyebrow raised behind Murdock’s glasses. He questioned, “How do you mean?”

 

Peter bit his lip, “If I…did something _bad_ and confessed…would it go away?”

 

Murdock chewed on this a moment before replying…

 

“Our wrongs never truly go away. But I think it helps me…personally…deal with them.”

   

The boy opened his mouth to respond, but the glimmer of a black car pulling up next to the sidewalk caught his attention. Peter stared a few moments before jumping to his feet and asking, “A-Are you waiting for someone? Do you need a ride? I’m sure Mr. Stark wouldn’t mind-“

 

Murdock cut him off, smiling, “It’s alright. I’m fine here, thank you.”

 

Peter nodded rapidly, turning and pulling the door open. Happy was giving him a strange look, his head turned towards the backseat where Peter was about to climb inside. Peter paused, before looking at the man one last time, “I’m Peter, by the way.”

 

“I know,” Murdock answered.

 

Murdock gave him a small wave, and Peter returned it, even though he knew it couldn’t be seen. He shut the door behind himself and as they pulled away from the curb, Happy started a speech about talking to strangers.

 

But it hadn’t been strange at all.

 

**IV.**

 

Doctor Middleton’s office was a few blocks away.

 

The routine was getting more sound.

 

Tony was already there, waiting inside the lobby when Happy dropped Peter off. The receptionist was always extremely engrossed in whatever conversation Tony offered up that week. Today it was about the new Italian restaurant that had opened up down the street. Tony and Peter had eaten there the night before. Peter had been full of breadsticks before his meal even arrived.

 

When Peter entered, Tony’s head popped up in his direction. He excused himself from the receptionist, going to sit beside Peter in their usual chairs. There was a woman on the other side of the waiting room, with a young boy, probably five or six, coloring in a book. Peter watched as the lady pointed at several colors, helping him choose what was best for the sky.

 

He picked green and she laughed.

 

“School go okay?”

 

Peter’s head turned in Tony’s direction. He nodded, “Yeah, really good. I even had time to patrol before decathlon practice. I was only ten minutes late, so MJ didn’t explode.”

 

Tony hummed, “And ‘The Deflation Plan’?”

 

“That was good too,” Peter nodded, “I saw Mr. Murdock, you know? The lawyer? He was at the church.”

 

Tilting his head, Tony replied, “Huh…a religious lawyer. Who would’ve thought?”

 

Peter watched the lady kiss the top of the boy’s hair. She complimented his drawing and they were called to the back. Peter looked at Tony who was bouncing his leg. No wonder Pepper was always getting mad at him for leaving board meetings early. Peter had learned in the past few weeks of going to these appointments that Tony sucked at waiting.

 

“I almost got a kitten today.”

 

Tony’s head whipped in his direction.

 

“Pepper would’ve killed you.”

 

**V.**

 

Doctor Middleton called them back into the small room that didn’t make Peter feel afraid.

 

There were children’s drawings on the walls. Small toys for the younger clients. Peter stared up at the scrawls while Tony spoke to Doctor Middleton about things like the weather, work, food. Tony must have really liked that restaurant, Peter thought, because he was talking about it again. Peter’s eyes scanned the crayon doodles until settling on one to the far right.

 

A drawing of Spider-Man with a green sky in the background.

 

Peter’s mouth tilted upward.

 

“I got some new artwork this week,” Doctor Middleton commented, noticing Peter’s eyes glued onto the wall.

 

They took their usual seats, not too close, but just close enough to know each other was there on either side of the couch while Doctor Middleton sat on the chair across the room. It was all routine now. Comfortable. The first appointment had left Peter a bundle of nerves, but now it seemed almost second nature. They had started out coming several times a week, but just last week that had decided just once would suffice.

 

The questions always started easy. Asking about school, friends, homework. Then they would climb. Get increasingly difficult. Not agonizing. That wasn’t the way Doctor Middleton worked. She dug just enough, until she knew it was too deep and then retracted. He had only cried once in her office. It had been the fourth appointment. Peter had been exhausted, coming day after day.

 

Doctor Middleton knew about the Raft. About Ross. About everything. Not Spider-Man though. She knew Peter was different, Tony had told her that much before hiring her. But Spider-Man was off limits. No matter how much Tony was paying her to keep her mouth shut.

 

Peter was chewing on his thumb nail when she asked, “Anymore arguments that I should be aware of?”

 

No. Not really. Things had gotten better, much better after that night in the dark bedroom when Peter had managed to form his apology. The Spider-Man suit was slowly being reintroduced into his life, even though he knew Tony didn’t want him to do it anymore. He didn’t feel like he was going to explode. He hoped Tony felt the same way…

 

“Nope,” Tony replied, then shrugged, “Well, except for the ‘Mr. Stark’ thing. I’m trying to get the name ‘Tony’ to come out of his mouth. It’s like pulling teeth.”

 

_“C’mon kiddo, it’s a really easy name. T-O-N-Y.”_

Peter had laughed nervously, and ignored the request.

 

Doctor Middleton tilted her head towards Peter, “Do you not feel comfortable yet, calling him Tony?”

 

His eyes went to the ceiling. The floor. Behind Doctor Middleton’s head. He continued to chew on his nails before replying, “Not yet.”

 

_It’s okay to be honest_ , he reminded himself.

 

Doctor Middleton gave Tony a look that said ‘there’s your answer’ and that must not have been something that she felt was important to work on. It must have been one of the ‘personals’ she always talked about. The things that couldn’t be fixed inside the office, but rather had to be worked on out in the real world. Tony didn’t look disappointed or annoyed, which Peter was relieved to see when he ventured to look at the man’s face.

 

The hardest question always came last.

 

“Where are we with Operation: ‘Self’?”

 

Tony had suggested naming it as such, like the ‘Deflation Plan’. Operation: Self was different all around. It wasn’t like Deflation where he went through the routine of allowing himself to feel things. Operation: Self was about forgiveness. Not forgiving others. Forgiving himself. Which seemed to be the hardest plan of them all.

 

Peter stopped biting his nails.

 

“I-It’s getting there.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. Tony shifted next to him.

 

Doctor Middleton hummed, “Last time we talked about Operation: Self, you were in a very dark spot. Are we away from that place?”

 

Peter glanced at Tony. His face was soft. Gentle. A look that Tony only ever got in this room.

 

Peter looked at the couch between them, beginning to pick at the fabric as he murmured, “I don’t…I-I don’t _hate_ myself anymore…not like when I said it.”

 

That had been a mess. They had still been trying to get the hang of this. Tony and himself. He had regretted when he uttered those words, because Tony hadn’t quite figured out that this therapy was for Peter. Had been so upset and hurt and _worried_. Because those had been dark thoughts indeed. Ones that had shaken Tony to his core. Those feelings weren’t supposed to be inside of such a bright fifteen-year-old.

 

Tony had hovered for days.

 

Peter swallowed thickly, “It’s still there…s-sometimes. But I don’t hate myself anymore.”

 

“When is it there?” Doctor Middleton asked.

 

Sighing, Peter responded, “When it’s quiet.”

 

He then finished, “But I don’t let it touch me. Not anymore. It’s there, but it doesn’t make me…it doesn’t _force_ me to feel those things.”

 

Doctor Middleton nodded…

 

“That’s very good, Peter. We’ll keeping fighting for that.”

 

**VI.**

 

“You are in desperate need of a haircut.”

 

Peter pouted as Tony pushed his hair off his forehead messily. He shook his head back and forth as Tony leaned over the counter, looking at Peter’s math homework. His eyes narrowed, “It’s Friday, why’re you doing that?”

 

“Because then I won’t have to worry about it all weekend,” Peter explained.

 

Tony’s face scrunched, “Teenagers aren’t supposed to be responsible.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, looking down at his homework again until Tony plopped down on the barstool beside him. He plucked the pencil from Peter’s hand, causing the teen’s head to snap up in surprise as Tony said, “I wanna talk for a second. So, attention on me, my dearest child.”

 

The boy’s shoulders slumped in defeat as Tony twirled the pencil between his fingers. There was brief quiet. Tony seemed to be considering his words carefully and a part of Peter started to dread what this conversation was supposed to be about. He dug through his mind, wondering if he had done something wrong.

 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to call me Tony,” The man paused in spinning the pencil, “Really, I don’t mind. But…”

 

Peter stared. Stared. And stared, worry creeping into his bones.

 

“Peter, if it gets quiet, you tell me.”

 

He set the pencil down and Peter couldn’t find the right words to respond. Tony’s eyes looked so…sad, _so_ suddenly.

 

“It got quiet on me for a long time, kiddo. And I didn’t tell anyone. Basically the 90’s for me. The decade of…a lot of bad decisions. You don’t have to tell me how badly it hurts, but just tell me when it’s quiet…so I know.”

 

Peter nodded his head, uttering, “Yes sir.”

 

Tony smoothed Peter’s hair where he had messed it up a moment before. He then picked the pencil back up off the counter and handed it over. Peter took it, smiling softly as he turned his attention back down to his homework. Tony stood, glancing at his watch, announcing, “Pepper will be home soon. I guess we should order some dinner before she gets here.”

 

As Tony moved away, Peter paused in his writing. He looked up, causing Tony to stare at him on his way to pick up his cellphone. Peter grinned brightly…

 

“I’ve got the _best_ idea.”

 

**VII.**

 

Pepper had taken off the torture devices called stilettos before she had even made it up the elevator.

 

She called out as she entered, hearing clanging.

 

Turning the corner into the kitchen, she paused.

 

The room was filled with a smoky haze. Tony was holding a fire extinguisher and Peter had a pot of something that he was holding with oven mitt hands.

 

Peter’s face was covered in flour and extinguisher fluid while Tony’s expression was frazzled, his hair sticking up in all directions.

 

Despite the mess, Peter let out a loud cackle.

 

“We made dinner, Ms. Potts! It’s inedible now, but come look!”

 

The boy nearly slipped on the foam, trying to get around the counter to show her. Tony barely caught him in time, both of them almost hitting the floor. But Peter never dropped the giant pot.

 

Pepper shook her head, whispering softly…

 

“My boys.”


End file.
